Cain't Catch a Break
by SlyvyToves
Summary: In order to escape the Mark of Cain, Sam and Dean attempt to travel to the Universe they visited during "The French Mistake." They accidentally find themselves in the BTVS universe with unexpected consequences. And Castiel may not be able to just let go. Destiel and Spander.
1. Chapter 1

"You're sure you won't come with us?" Dean asked wearily, staring into the vortex. It wobbled sickeningly like the surface of an oil slick, black and opaque.

Castiel looked away and shook his head.

"No Dean. I have to stay here." He looked back plaintively, willing Dean to understand. "I've failed my bretheren too many times. I can't...I have to make it right."

Dean looked at the ground and nodded. He understood how Castiel felt. He understood the guilt and the responsibility that weighed him down. But that didn't make the thought of never seeing Cas again any less painful.

"Besides," he continued, trying to fill the awkward silence, "A world without magic, without heaven or angels, it's likely that this vessel will disintegrate. The structural integrity has already been compromised, and whatever has been holding it together in this universe, there's no telling-"

"Yeah I get it!" Dean interrupted gruffly. Castiel shut his mouth abruptly. Dean ran a hand impatiently through his hair. "I know, I just...I'm gonna miss you."

For a moment their eyes met, and Dean was sure he could see the ache in his soul reflected back at him.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. Dean glanced over at his brother, standing next to the portal with a dufflebag. The bag contained everything they'd be taking with them to the other world, the one without magic. Without demons, without the supernatural. A world where the Mark of Cain would be inert, nothing but another battle scar.

"Let's go, Dean," Sam said quietly. He recognized that this was hard for his brother, but he was thrilled with the idea of leaving this universe behind. Finally, he wouldn't have to hunt, or be hunted, and he wouldn't have to feel guilty about it. He could rest. He'd have a normal life. And he'd have his brother. He was trying his best to curb his impatience but if Dean didn't hurry it up he was going to drag him through the damn portal by force.

"You'll take care of my baby, alright?" Dean asked, trying in vain to keep his voice from breaking. Castiel nodded solemnly.

"I shall guard it with my life." They clasped hands, and the moment drew out a few moments longer, before Dean had to break away or lose his nerve entirely. With a final look back at Castiel's stony expression, he walked side by side with his brother through the portal.


	2. Chapter 2

Xander sat at the back of the bar, hunched over his glass, and sipped sloooowly. Tonight had been a bad night. Which seemed unfair. He shouldn't still be having bad nights like this. Helping to save the world 8+ times should karmically forgive every stupid thing he'd ever done and subsequently guarantee an end to bad nights.

When Xander came back from Africa, he'd told Giles he needed a break. A break from blood and death-a break from fighting. But he couldn't just turn his back on the fighting, knowing that teenage girls were out there struggling and dying because of a decision he and his friends had made. But he needed a rest. For his sanity. Giles had obliged and sent Xander stateside. Middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, third Haunted-est state in the Union. Ghosts Xander could handle. Exorcisms. You burn a body, do a cleansing, etc. All pretty standard. But that wasn't Xander's main gig. He ran a safe house for recuperating slayers, contacts, and ordinary civilians who'd had their lives turned upside-down by a brush with the supernatural and were trying to get back on their feet. The house itself was so big as to be mansion-esque and covered in so many wards it disturbed the more magically sensitive guests. Basically, he was a glorified bellhop who occasionally got tapped for his research and (now passable) fighting skills. Which is why he still had bad nights.

Like tonight.

Tonight was a bad night.

God only knew what a clan of Klintosh demons were doing in the middle of bumfuck Pennsylvania, but there they were. Causing problems for the local populace. It started with missing pets, but then suddenly upgraded to missing children and that's when a team of slayers got called in. It was a small squad, Klintosh demons being known more for their running and hiding than their fighting abilities. That was one reason why Xander felt like it would be fine if he tagged along. The other reason was he couldn't stand idly by while kids were disappearing, not when he could do something about it.

That had turned out to be a mistake.

Actually clearing out the nest had gone fairly well. It was an underground lair, accessed via an old barn on the outskirts of town. The slayers went in first, hacking and slashing and making lame jokes that made even Xander wince. He stayed back, using his broad axe to pick off the stragglers that managed to get past the slayers. There weren't many.

Everything was going fine.

Until they got farther into the lair. That's when they'd seen what was left of the missing children. The...ornaments.

Xander clenched his teeth and downed another shot at the memory. There was not enough alcohol in the world to kill those braincells.

"Are you doing ok, sweetie?" the professionally sympathetic voice of his waitress threaded through Xander's maudlin remembrances. He blinked and offered a wan smile.

"I could use another drink," he said quietly. She smiled back at him brightly.

"Be back in a moment, hon," she chirped, already walking away. Xander watched her retreat disinterestedly. He was not the only patron, but he was close to it. It was a quiet sports bar. It had a dark atmosphere that discouraged party-goers. Away from the downtown area but not in a bad location. There were a bunch of pool tables and darts, and a bunch of tables and booths for people to sit and eat at. It was in one of those booths that Xander now sat, staring into his empty shot glass. He'd crawled in here just as soon as he'd showered the Klintosh ichor off of his body. He'd learned the hard way that guys covered in demon blood get served last.

He glanced at his cell phone. He ignored the texts from Willow and Faith, focusing on the time. It wouldn't be long now. _He_ always showed up around the same time on Fridays.

The first time Xander had stumbled in here, he had been in a similar state. He'd needed a place to hide and forget, someplace that no one at the safe house knew about. He didn't want them to see him break. They needed him strong.

"I've told you a million times, luv, you wear heels that long and you'll break your bloody neck!"

There.

Xander's head snapped up as the voice he'd been waiting for floated out from behind the bar. The owner of the voice focused sparkling blue eyes and an amused smirk on Xander's waitress. She huffed in response.

"Johnny, sweetie, you don't understand fashion," she shot back teasingly. 'Johnny' merely laughed good naturedly and took his place behind the bar. Xander couldn't help but stare. It was Spike. The face, the eyes, the voice. All the same as the day he self-immolated under Sunnydale. Still, there were some differences. The hair, for example: dark blond, worn loose and unruly. Also, the edge of madness and despair that had clung to him like a shroud since recovering his soul was gone. He seemed...lighter, somehow. Genuinely happy in a way that Xander had only witnessed in civilians. Oh, and there was the heartbeat.

The first time Xander had seen him here, serving drinks and laughing with the customers and staff, he'd been shocked. And then angry. And then shocked again. Too overcome to actually approach him, and still reeling from his own issues, Xander had merely collapsed into a booth and watched him work. Hearing the others in the bar call him 'John' had just been the bizarre icing on the cake of weird.

Xander had left without saying anything, and he had been too wigged to tell anyone else. He half suspected it was a trauma-induced hallucination. But he had come back multiple times since that first encounter. Through observation and inquiry, he'd learned that Spike/Johnny had been working here for a little over a year, and that while he was generally liked, no one knew much about him. Xander's own research had unearthed something called Shanshu which had explained a lot. Xander wasn't sure if Spike recognized him or not, but if he did, he was pretending not too. Either way, Xander decided to respect that. It seemed as though Spike had somehow managed to extricate himself from the endless cycle of fighting that he himself was still trapped in. He looked happy to be rid of it.

After the fall of Sunnydale, Xander had been surprised by how much he missed the blond menace. He was finally able to admit that he actually liked Spike, in an annoying friend sort of way, and in retrospect how much he and the other Scoobies owed the vampire. Of course, by that point it had been too late to do anything, and the guilt he felt over that just added to the constant knot of guild and anxiety in his stomach that had begun developing the night Jessie died and grew to a huge throbbing ulcer after Anya's death. His Spike-guilt was a mere drop in the ocean by comparison, but that didn't make it less painful when confronted with a living reminder.

Xander had no intention of spoiling whatever peace Spike had found.

That was really why he came here, on the bad nights. Watching Spike gave him hope. He was living proof that champions could have happy endings, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. After everything they'd been through, everything Spike had suffered and sacrificed, he found it incredibly gratifying to see his life actually working out. He just, liked seeing Spike so happy.

"Here ya go hon!" The waitress had come back with more alcohol. Xander smiled absentmindedly and took the drink.

* * *

Xander leaned back, watching Spike flirt with customers and show off his mad bar tending skills. The alcohol spread a warm glow through him, and he felt the tension starting to melt away.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you figured out what the hell is up with this universe yet?" Dean asked irritably as he poured himself another drink. Sam didn't so much as glance over at him, keeping his eyes fixed to his computer.

"Not quite, but I have a theory."

Dean glared at him from the other side of the motel room. "Alright, let's hear it."

"So, look, I've been looking around online, and as far as I can tell, on the surface it's just like our world. The supernatural, ghosts, and demons, they're all make believe. But just like our world, ah, universe, if you look deeper, there are flags. Hints for hunters and people in the know, but the things they hint at..." Sam trailed off. Dean gave him a look and waived his arms impatiently.

"At?!"

Sam frowned in consternation.

"That's just it. I'm not sure what the hell it means. It all sounds pretty ridiculous. Too ridiculous to be true. Epic battles, hell gods, demonic lawyers...it all sounds like a Lord of the Rings novel." Dean gave him an incredulous look.

"Dude, yesterday we ganked a...I don't know, VAMP I guess-just by staking it! And then, the freakin' thing turned to dust! Pass me a sword and call me Aragorn, cuz we have officially left the Shire!"

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "What?!" Dean asked irritably.

"Nothing! It's just...I've never heard you use that many Lord of the Rings references in a row." Dean shot him a dirty look.

Going through the portal had been...eventful. They had emerged in an old cemetery. It had felt oddly nostalgic, like the new universe was welcoming them. That moment of peace had lasted up until they heard a struggle going on nearby. They had rounded a mausoleum and found a young couple fighting desperately (and unsuccessfully) against a bunch of super strong creeps with weird, messed up faces. At the time, Sam had made a weak reference to Klingons which for appearances sake Dean had pretended not to understand. When shooting the things proved useless, they switched to machetes, hoping decapitation might work. It was pretty effective, although the cloud of dust was fairly disconcerting. After slicing the head off of the second one, the dust flew into Dean's face. Temporarily distracted from the fight, he was unprepared for the monster that tackled him to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam had yelled, pulling the monster off of him and throwing it away. The monster had slammed back first against a tree, stared at them for a few seconds, and then burst into dust around a branch that had apparently accidentally embedded itself in the thing's heart. Sam and Dean had looked at each other in shock and surprise. "Dude, what the hell?"

Afterward, they had grabbed their stuff and gotten the hell out of the cemetery (the couple having run off at the first opportunity). They stole a car and made their way to a motel, where they were currently ensconced, trying to make sense of why their magic-free universe had cheesy monster movie vampires.

"So, what does all this mean?" Dean asked presently, still pacing back and forth agitatedly. "Is there magic or what? And what does this mean for the Mark?" he asked, waving his arm around for emphasis. Sam shrugged.

"I'm not sure. But, I'm pretty sure this isn't the world Balthazar sent us to before."

"How d'you figure?"

"Well, remember how our counterparts in the world we were sent to were big tv stars? Jared something and Jensen Ackles?"

"Your point?"

"My point is, the tv show doesn't exist here. Neither do either of the actors who played us." They were both silent for a moment as they digested this.

"So, what, we don't exist here?" Sam shrugged.

"I guess not. Or, we didn't, until now." Another moment of silence followed. "Although, when I looked up Supernatural, I did find something."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"Well..." Sam hesitated, clearing his throat. "Instead of being published as a book series here, or a tv show, a bunch of the stories were published by someone else as comic books. With...homoerotic themes."

Dean stared at Sam in disbelief.

"Seriously, Dude? Even here? Seriously?" Sam coughed again and continued on hurriedly.

"The series didn't last long, but like in our universe, there's an underground cult following."

"Well that's just freakin' fantastic."

"Dean-"

"We leave everything behind, and I mean EVERYTHING. The fight, Benny, Kevin, Cas..." Dean paused, momentarily caught by grief. He shook his head. "And for what? Monsters still exist, that means magic probably exists and I'm still screwed, except now, we don't know the rules. And, we're not even famous!" Dean ranted, raising his voice and gesticulating wildly. "I mean, does God even exist here? Are there angels? Witches? What?!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, capturing Dean's attention and bringing his rant to a halt. "Dude, chill out. Panicking won't do us any good. And anyway, look at the bright side." Dean cocked his head.

"The bright side, Sam?"

"Yeah. I mean, think about it-no one in this universe knows who we are. In our universe, we have demons and angels and monsters and a never ending river of crap flowing directly towards us. In this world, no one knows who we are. And technically, we don't actually know what the supernatural truth is here. We're civilians." When Dean looked like he was about to object to that characterization, Sam pressed on. "And that was the plan, remember? Normal life? No more fighting? Maybe that's enough to keep the Mark in check. As far as I can tell, there's no mention of Angels or God being real. Maybe we're cut off from Heaven's power here, and if so, we're safe. The plan still works." Dean frowned.

"That's a lot of 'ifs' Sam. So excuse me if I don't feel better." Dean went back to his pacing. Sam sighed the sigh of the long-suffering little brother.

"Look, if it'll make you feel better, we could do some research. Find some other hunters, talk to them, see what's what." Dean sighed.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just-"

"I know, man. It sucks. We came here to get away from the supernatural, and it was right here waiting for us, only now..."

"Now we're clueless and alone," Dean finished dejectedly, fighting hard to drag his thoughts away from a nerdy little angel in a trench coat.


	4. Chapter 4

"Xander, you ass!"

In response to the shrill voice intruding on his solitude, Xander rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Faith told me that you ran off last night and haven't been returning her calls or texts!"

"Ingrid..." Xander whimpered, hoping the girl would take pity on him and his obviously disheveled state. The girl, of course, did no such thing.

"And you came in super late last night, super wasted, and wouldn't tell anyone where you'd been. And now you're sleeping in past noon!" She chastened, pulling at his pillow. Xander pulled it back.

"I'm American, Ingrid. Our morning is later than yours." Had Xander's eyes been open he would have seen the young girl's nose wrinkle cutely.

"Is that 'morning' or 'mourning'?" she asked thoughtfully.

Xander sighed. He'd slept late enough and drunk enough water last night that he didn't really have a hangover. He just didn't feel like facing the day. Too many "are you okays" and "do you want to talk about its" on the horizon. For the umpteenth time in his life, he really wished he had more guy friends. Girls just didn't understand the need to silently process things, and that talking about it actually made it worse sometimes. Sighing, Xander slowly sat up in bed and looked at Ingrid, who was standing next to him. She cocked her head cutely (truth be told, there was very little she did that wasn't cute-in a puppyish way) and frowned at him.

"Hey, Xander. You look like shit."

He glared at her. The impressive one-eyed glare of an overtired former slayerette. Ingrid was not impressed. It worked a treat on monsters he was actually going to kill, but the women in his life were pretty much immune.

"Thank you for that astute observation. I'm awake now, you can go." She frowned.

"You'll call Faith?" She asked stubbornly. Xander sighed.

"Yes, I'll call Faith," he promised, his conscience not at all pricked by the fact that he was planning on just texting her.

"And Willow?" she insisted. Xander nodded, stretching. He didn't notice the way Ingrid's eyes traveled over his bare chest, or the way she blushed, suddenly realizing his state of undress.

"A-and you'll eat breakfast?" she added, taking a step backwards as he made to get up. Xander rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm up, I'm eating, I'm talking, I'm walking. You can go report to your commander that you've done your duty and Xander L. Harris has officially rejoined the ranks of the living," he muttered, wandering over to his dresser in only his boxers. Ingrid's blush deepened.

"Right!" she squeaked and fled the room.

Xander threw on a worn tee shirt and his super loose around-the-house jeans, mostly on autopilot. He had no intention of leaving the house today, and therefore did not feel the need for real people clothes. Normally he didn't like wearing his pajamas around the house, which tended to have lots of people he didn't really know. But there weren't a lot of other people in the mansion currently, and none of them would be offended by his informal attire. George tended to hang out in the basement, and Ingrid had classes and a part time job in addition to slaying so she tended to be in and out. Xander also suspected she had a boyfriend but he so didn't want to know.

On his way downstairs Xander grabbed his cell off of the dresser. It was next to a picture of the whole scooby gang which Xander glanced at fondly. He was hoping that Watcher HQ would have some research or other mostly harmless yet productive activity that he could focus on and therefore prevent his mind from wandering to images of last night.

He grabbed some cereal from the ancient refrigerator in the ridiculously oversized old kitchen and flung himself into the kitchen table. It was after about two bites of soggy frosted flakes that his cell phone began vibrating wildly.

Xander didn't bother looking at the caller Id before answering.

"Hey Willow."

"Don't you 'Hey Willow' me buster! I've been trying to call you since last night, and YOU have been shamelessly ducking my calls!"

"Not shamelessly. There was some shame. Some guilt and self-loathing, even. But I suppressed it with alcohol and greasy food the way my Mommy taught me to."

"Xander! Not healthy! Not okay, and not funny!" Xander grimaced.

"Sorry."

"Darn tootin' you're sorry! We're all really worried about you, and you refusing to talk to us just makes us more worried!" Xander rolled his eyes and managed not to sigh aloud.

"I know, Willow. And I appreciate that you worry about me, but I'm fine."

"People who are fine don't suppress their emotions with alcohol and greasy food."

This time Xander did sigh aloud.

"Ok, point. I'm not fine. But I'm not not fine to the degree where people need to worry about me and speak in hushed tones."

"We're not-"

"Last night was bad, Willow. It was sucky, and bad, and brought up stuff best left forgotten. But bottom line, no more kids are going to get snatched because of us, and that's a good thing. And there were no casualties on Team Scoobie. All in all, a successful evening. You know, aside from the House of 1,000 kiddie corpses. And hey, I've seen worse."

"Xander..."

"Everything's really ok. I just need to get that image out of my head, and move on. And if I'd taken your calls last night, you would've made me talk about it. Which would've made me think about it, and wallow in it, when no good can come of the wallowing."

"I know no good can come of the wallowing, but sometimes good can come of the talking, and the venting. I want to be here for your venting." Xander smiled, picturing the adorable little frown that was no doubt on Willow's face.

"I know. And I love you for that. And when I need to vent, I promise that you will be the one I direct my impotent rage towards."

"That's all I want." They paused for a few moments, basking in the comfortable silence of mutual affection.

"So how are things at Watcher HQ? Everyone doing good? No Apocalypses on the horizon?" Xander asked eventually. The silence that greeted his question was distinctly less comfortable.

"Willow?"

"Sorry! Sorry, don't panic, no Apocalypses. We think."

"We think? We're not sure? I really think this is something we should be sure about Wills."

"Well, it's weird. All the seers and psychics and sensitives say that something's happened."

"Something. What something?"

"Well that's the thing! They don't know. And none of them agree with each other. And they're all unhelpfully vague."

"Vague prophecies of doom? That's new and different."

"Not even doom! Some just say that a change is coming. Some say a dark force has entered our world. One seer in Bulgaria just started saying, 'danger' over and over and over again. They had to gag him eventually."

"Kinky."

"Xander! It's not funny, he could choke. And! It's really annoying, because the only thing we can do is research all the prophecies that could possibly happen in the near future, and try to prepare for them. Which is impossible! We can't even warn people because we don't know what's happening."

Xander couldn't help smiling at Willow's tirade. Nothing frustrated her more than being confronted with a problem she couldn't solve.

"Well, I was kind of hoping that you'd have some busy-work you could throw my way. I could really use a distraction, so this latest crisis is actually kind of well timed."

"Hey, yeah! This is actually kind of perfect. There's a book of obscure prophecies we need, just to hedge our bets. It's one of a kind, bound with the skin of...cows. Just, you know, ordinary, non human leather binding. Anyway, it's one of a kind, and all of us are really busy researching, so if you could get it, that would be amaaazingly helpful. And, I think it's in one of those ancient languages you're kind of familiar with, so if you want to peruse it, give us a preliminary rundown of anything that seems pertinent, that would be great."

"Anything for my Witchy Woman. So where am I going to get this one of a kind book?"

"Not too far out of your way. You remember that semi-interdimensional demon library in New York?"

"The one Andrew got banned from?"

"That's the one!"

"Alrighty. Consider it done. And hey, is Andrew still in New York?"

"Yup. He was Watchering a couple slayers up in Albany, but they got relocated recently so he's been on a sort of sabbatical. He said he's working on some pet projects and being kind of secretive about it. Actually, if you could swing by and try and get a sense of what types of secret projects he's working on, that would also be great. We trust him, but we're all still a little nervous after that giant spider incident."

Xander sighed.

"Yeah, I can do that. Might be nice to see him again. We can get our geek on and I can make sure he's not going to kill us with his unilateral attempts at helping."

"That's the spirit!"

"Right. So everyone else good? Are you good?"

"All good. I'm good, Buffy's good, Dawn's good, Giles is...well, British, but good."

"Ok, good. I'll call you when I've got the book."

"Love ya. Bye."

"Bye." Xander hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced up at the clock. If he left soon, he could be in New York by the early evening. He could hang out with Andrew tonight and head to the library tomorrow. All in all a fun filled day.


	5. Chapter 5

"I miss Biggerson's," Dean grumbled, staring balefully at his doublemeat burger. He and Sam were sitting in the corner of a Double Meat Palace in upstate New York. Dean was trying to choke down what they erroneously described as a burger while Sam made use of the free wifi.

Sam glanced at Dean over the top of his lap top and refrained from rolling his eyes. Dean grimaced and threw the "burger" down. "So what do ya got?"

"Well, I've got a lead. But first I gotta ask, are you sure you wanna do this?" he asked hesitantly. Dean furrowed his brow.

"Do what?"

Sam made an impatient noise.

"Do, this. Get involved in the supernatural again. I mean," Sam started, looking around furtively. He leaned in and continued quietly, "the plan was to stop hunting. Settle down, go legit. Whatever's going on in this world, it's not our fight. We don't have to get involved," he urged, his doey brown eyes blown wide with earnesty.

Dean stared back at him flatly.

"We don't have to get involved?" he asked, voice dripping with disbelief. "Sam, we popped up in a graveyard, ganked some monsters, and saved some innocent people. Less than 15 minutes in this dimension, we're already a lightening rod for supernatural crap. Even if 'not getting involved' were an option, it's not a safe option. We need to know what's out there so at the very least we can protect ourselves. We can't just bury our heads in the sand, Sam."

Sam's earnest stare withstood Dean's "are you serious" glare for a couple more seconds, before crumpling into predictable resignation. He sighed.

"Fine."

"Ok. So, what's the lead?" Dean asked, leaning back again. Sam cleared is throat.

"Alright. Well, I started thinking. We've got no contacts, and we don't know where to go for information. But neither did Dad when he started out."

"But he had Missouri."

"Exactly!" Sam exclaimed. Dean stared at him blankly.

"Exactly what, Sam? We don't have Missouri."

Sam sighed in exasperation.

"No, Dean, we don't have Missouri. But what we do have, are psychics." Dean nodded, digesting that.

"Alright, I get it. Just like in our world, some of the Miss Cleo's around here are at least a little legit."

"Right! So, from there, it's just a matter of separating the genuine article from the charlatans."

Dean groaned.

"How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

"Well, lucky for you, I am a genius." Dean shot him a look. "Shut up. I'll spare you the details, but I spent all night searching forums, comparing user ids, looking for clues, and I finally managed to compile a list of psychics who I think are the real deal."

"Great. Pick one and let's go." Sam clenched his jaw in frustration.

"I tried that, Dean. I called all the genuine psychics in a 25 mile radius-all 3 of them, by the way-and all I got were answering machines, saying that they were closed for the foreseeable future." Dean stared at him in disbelief.

"Did the message really say, 'for the foreseeable future'? Because man, for a psychic, that seems kind of ironic."

Sam ground his teeth and fought the urge to smack Dean upside the head. Dean grinned at him and slurped his soda loudly.

"The last psychic I called," Sam continued through gritted teeth, "had a message with an alternate contact in case of emergency. So I called _that_ number, and talked to this guy..." Sam trailed off. Dean waved his arms impatiently.

"And?!"

"Well...it was...kind of weird."

"Weird how? What'd he tell you? What'd he say, what'd you say? What happened?" Dean egged him on, taking another cautious bite of his fries. Sam was quiet for another moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Well, the guy I spoke to, when he asked what I wanted I told him the truth, more or less." Dean coughed, choking on his fries. When he had his breathing under control again he stared at Sam in shock.

"The truth? Are you insane?"

"Not the whole truth, obviously. I'm not an idiot, Dean. I just told him that last night, we got attacked by some creatures, we managed to get away, and we're shaken up and trying to get some more information." Dean grinned.

"You convinced the guy we were innocent victims? Nice one."

"Yeah. I think so, at least. I asked where we could go to get information, and he offered me a list of books and some websites that we could look at. He emailed them to me.

"Nice going, Sammy. We got ourselves a starting point."

"Yeah, but get this. I was trying to get more general information, just on how to protect ourselves, and there was some kind of emergency and he had to go. But he said if we wanted, we could stop by his place and talk to him." Dean shrugged.

"Alright. Sounds good, let's go." Sam made a face, which Dean recognized as scrunched up face number 3 – his, 'I'm not telling you something and it's going to upset you' face. "What?"

"Well, here's the thing. The guy I talked to, he sounded a little...off."

"Off? Off how?"

"Off as in, he described the creatures as, 'Vampyrs' or, the 'evil, souless minions of darkness'." Dean stared at him.

"Are you freakin' kidding me?"

"Hey, just because he's..."

"Lame?"

" _Dramatic,_ doesn't mean he's completely clueless. I mean, the Ghostfacers?" he gestured, waiting for Dean's reluctant nod before continuing. "Totally lame, but they stumbled into the real deal and now, they're almost, nearly, semi-legitimate."

After staring in disbelief for several minutes Dean sighed heavily.

"Fine. Let's go." Abruptly he stood to go, cheap plastic chair scraping loudly over the cement.

"Dean, if you'd rather not talk to this guy-" Sam subsided as Dean held up a forestalling hand.

"Hey, like you said. We're civilians. We can't be choosey. We found someone willing to help us out, that's great. So this is me, making the best of things."

Sam swallowed whatever else he was going to say. He started to gather up his lap top as Dean tossed the mostly uneaten remains of his doublemeat medley with a grimace of disgust. He supposed he should be happy that Dean was trying to be positive. But he really wished they could just stay civilians. Right now it wasn't their fight, wasn't even their world, but if they kept digging he was sure that was bound to change.

"So what's this guy's name?" Dean asked absently as he slid into the driver's seat of their stolen car.

"Andrew."


	6. Chapter 6

_Meanwhile, in the other dimension:_

"No!" an inhumanly loud voice boomed throughout the assemblage.

An impossibly long table in what appeared to be an ordinary conference room was bordered on both sides by agitated looking men and women. The people themselves were fairly diverse, however there were certain obvious similarities. The individuals on the right side of the table were all wearing informal, casual clothes, ranging from flannel and khakis to ripped jeans and t-shirts. The individuals seated on the other side of the table were all smartly dressed in crisp gray and black suits.

At the head of the table a tall, ice blonde woman in a sharp tailored suit slammed her finely manicured hands down on the polished mahogany. She glared at the other end of the table where a giant, bushy bearded man in flannel stood with arms crossed, glaring back with equal intensity.

"We cannot simply allow you and your rogue angels to continue roaming the human world as you please!" she bellowed.

"And we cannot simply return to heaven to once again live under your thumb. We will not go back to the way things were!" the burly angel yelled back.

"It's not like it was," Hannah, in the form of a middle-aged Asian woman insisted from the middle of the table. All eyes turned to her. "We are not going to bring about the apocalypse, and we are no longer a dictatorship. Your voices will be heard. But you cannot continue on as you have. If you truly admire the humans as you claim to, then you must realize the inherent cruelty in continuing to possess these vessels, Ermiel."

Ermiel, the gruff leader of the rogue angels, shifted uncomfortably as he held Hanna's eyes.

"I heed your counsel, Hannah. Many of us have been faced with the family and friends of our vessels. It's part of the reason why we agreed to this meeting. But if we are to return to heaven," he continued, glaring across the table at the blonde, "then we'll need assurances that our relations with humans will change."

"And you will have them," Hannah assured hastily.

BAM!

All eyes turned towards the blond as she once again slammed her hands against the table.

"We are not the ones who should be required to provide assurances. How can we trust you who turned your back on Heaven with the fragile order we have managed to reconstruct? There has been enough bloodshed. How can we let them return with no punishment?"

"Punishment?!" One of the rogue angels yelled out. "Living under your rules is punishment enough!"

"How dare you! It's thinking like yours, yours and Castiel's," the suited angel yelled, pointing accusingly at where Cas leaned silently against the wall watching the proceedings, "that led to this tragedy in the first place!"

Castiel clenched his teeth but said nothing. His silence was a requirement of this meeting. The rogue angels only agreed to attend after they learned he would be present, and he didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize their potential reconciliation.

"Castiel isn't the problem! The problem is you!" The room soon devolved into chaos as the angels began yelling over each other. Hannah tried to regain order but her voice couldn't be heard over the din. She shot a desperate look at Castiel, who hesitantly stepped forward, preparing to speak.

Suddenly the giant double doors which had been magically sealed burst inward with a blast of energy. A tall blond man with a mocking smile swept into the room, instantly silencing the bickering angels.

"Can't we all just get along?"

He glanced around the room and smiled sardonically. "Guess not. Of course, that's why we're all here, isn't it kids?" he continued, strolling around the room with apparent nonchalance. "You can't get over yourselves and share the sandbox. It's pathetic, really."

"Gabriel," Hannah said, attempting to regain control of the room, "we were under the belief that you were dead." He grinned at her.

"Well, what can I say. Reports of my death, yada yada yada." He swished to the front of the table, next to the blonde angel who was glaring daggers at him.

"You are not-" the blonde angel began, only to be rendered magically speechless by a flamboyant gesture of Gabriel's hand.

"That's enough out of you, Remiel. Jeez, you'd think after 3 or 4 millenia you'd eventually decide to take the stick out of your ass." He chuckled at his own humor before swinging around to face the assembled angels. He rested his hands on the table and swept his eyes across his brethren.

"I heard about this little get together, and how close you were to finally, once and for all getting your act together and getting over yourselves, and, well," he lifted his arms in an exaggerated shrug. "I knew you chuckle heads couldn't be trusted with it."

"Gabriel," Hannah said forcefully, demanding his attention. "Your interference is not constructive. If your goal is truly that these proceedings should be successful, then the best course of action is for you to leave. Now."

Gabriel made an exaggerated show of pretending to think about it.

"Mmmm, no. See," he started, beginning another dramatic circling of the room, "I've been listening to your little negotiation. You," he said, pointing to the renegades, "just want to go home without getting dragged into another apocalypse, and to leave the humans in peace from future being jerked around. While you," he continued, gesturing towards the orderly angels, "want your pound of flesh and reassurance that they'll fall in line so we won't have to go through this whole bloody violent song and dance over and over again."

He dropped his hands and looked pointedly back and forth.

"Guys. Come on. It's not that complicated. You both want the same things, you just need to get over your diva selves."

"Get to the point, or get out, Gabriel." Hannah said sharply. He smiled patronizingly.

"Gladly. I've come up with the solution to all your problems. He extended his hand gracefully towards the wall, pointing directly at Castiel.

"You have to get rid of Cas."


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, this is...underwhelming."

Sam and Dean looked up at the unassuming gray stone building on an otherwise empty side-street. The door was a solid block of steel with a faded impression in the middle that just barely looked like the outline of an eye. Above the door was a cheap looking security camera.

Dean gave Sam an accusing glare which he chose not to acknowledge. Instead he knocked on the door; the rapping of his knuckles rang out hollowly through the emptiness of the street. Several uncomfortable moments passed.

"Oh, well, look at that. No one's home. Let's just go, ok Sam? Either the dude flaked on us, or he's waiting inside to jump us, steal our organs, and sell them on the black market."

"That's just an urban legend, Dean." Sam huffed in irritation and knocked again.

"In our dimension it's an urban legend. But this world who knows." Sam ignored him and continued pounding on the door.

"Hello? Mr. Hanvelsing?" Sam called. He pointedly did not look at Dean, who was shooting him a look so full of incredulity it could have killed Tinkerbell. Sam ignored it with the practiced ease of a younger sibling.

Just as Sam was about to give in and endure an endless tirade of smug "I told you so's" from Dean, a mechanical clank came from inside the door, and it swung slowly inward with an ominous groan. Sam hesitated, wondering if Dean might have been right about the organ harvesting.

"Finally," Dean muttered, pushing past Sam into the darkened interior of the building. In his surprise, Sam was too slow to grab Dean as he shoved past.

"Dammit Dean," he griped, starting to rush after him. Halfway through the door, it occurred to him that it was a terrible idea to run pell mell into a building that had remotely controlled doors. He paused just inside the door and grabbed a wooden stake out of his bag, shoving it between the door and the latch. Once he was satisfied that he and Dean weren't about to be locked in a windowless tomb, he rushed after his impetuous brother.

They stumbled into a long, empty, concrete hallway lit by flickering florescent lights. Sam rushed after Dean's hurried stride, glancing back at the entrance with trepidation.

" _For better or worse_ ," he thought grimly, " _we're back in it_." They had to follow through with it now, and Sam could do nothing but follow Dean's impatient stride towards the end of the hallway.

It looked vaguely like an abandoned apartment building further on the inside, with boarded up doors on either side. At the end of the hallway was a small lobby with an single elevator. The door stood open, carriage well lit and inviting. As Sam caught up to Dean, who was staring at the open doors with an anticipatory gleam in his gorgeous green eyes, he tried one final time to derail the inevitable.

"Dean," he entreated, attempting vainly to be the voice of reason, "we don't have to do this. Let's just go."

"And go where, Sammy?" He asked, eyes remaining glued to the elevator. "You said it yourself, this guy's our only lead." Sam twitched.

"I know. But this Andrew guy, or whoever, obviously wants us to get on that elevator. And it's all seeming pretty trap-like. Maybe, for once, we can _not_ walk directly into it." He paused, waiting to see how Dean would react. He didn't have to wait long. Dean smirked and strode confidently into the waiting jaws of the lift. He turned around with an infuriatingly cocky grin.

"C'mon, Sammy. What fun would that be?" Sam frowned disapprovingly, but ultimately couldn't resist the magnetic charm of that maddening smile and joined Dean in the elevator. The door closed slowly, and they began to descend.

They stared ahead straight ahead, glancing at each other in the reflective metal of the inner door.

"You're a moron," Sam deadpanned. That just made Dean smile harder.

It wasn't long before the elevator reached the sub basement. The door opened onto yet another hallway. Instead of the bare, almost abandoned look of the first hallway, this one looked like the inside of cheesey, B-movie vampire's lair. The floor was covered in a thick, red carpet. Ornate gold sconces with giant torches illuminated the oak panelled hallway with flickering shadows.

Dean and Sam shared a look. If it were to be verbalized, it might have been something akin to "Dude what the Hell?" followed by "I don't know."

The cautiously stepped from the elevator. Sam noticed that Dean had his hand on his gun, and Sam did the same. They expected an attack, but none came. Warily, they made their way down the surreal, horror-esque hallway toward the decorative double doors at the end.

Dean placed a firm hand on the door, the other securely on his weapon. He looked to Sam.

"You ready?" he asked quietly. Sam nodded solemnly. With an unspoken signal, Dean threw open the doors and they stormed into the room with weapons drawn.


	8. Chapter 8

The interior of the room was...well...one way to describe it would have been cliché. Another way to describe it would have been every goth kid's wet-dream. Essentially, it was an office, but it took a minute to identify it as such. The entire room was dramatically illuminated with recessed lighting and strategically placed candles. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient and foreboding looking tomes, jars of random body parts, herbs, and other equally occult items. At the far end of the room was an almost comically giant oak desk with all manner of skulls and jars and mystical accouterments on it. There were two ornate (if uncomfortable) looking chairs facing the desk, and one giant leather swivel chair facing away from the entrance.

Dean shot Sam yet another look which Sam responded to with a little shrug.

"Gentlemen." A soft voice floated out from the chair, "please, sit down. I assure you there's no cause for alarm."

The chair swiveled around and the brothers caught their first glimpse of Andrew HanVelsing, Vampire Hunter extraordinaire. He was wearing an aristocratic black velvet suit with a dramatic collar and silver accents. He was petting a spotted cat who looked extremely disinterested in their presence.

Andrew smiled at them beatifically, gesturing to the empty chairs.

"Please, sit."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Andrew waited patiently through their silent communication.

"I assure you gentlemen, you have nothing to fear from me. I am neither a con man nor a preying beast. I am merely a guide of the mystical; a guardian of wonder; a -"

" master of bullshitting, we got it," Dean snapped. Andrew's hand stilled its movements and his eyes narrowed minutely. Sam glanced quickly between the two, uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were on this guy's home turf with no real conception of what powers he possessed. Making a snap judgment, he put up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Ok, look, sorry. We're just a little on edge." He put his gun away and eased towards the desk as Andrew and Dean continued to glare at each other. "We're still really freaked out from last night, and we're a little...intimidated by everything you've got going on here." Andrew's gaze passed to him, almost preening at the admission. Dean glared at him but reluctantly put his gun away at Sam's look. "Please," he entreated, "we just want some answers."

"I am only too happy to enlighten you to the ways of the world of the dangerous and the macabre," he intoned regally. "All I ask is a modicum of respect," he added with a glance at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and heaved himself into one of the chairs before the desk with more oomph than was strictly necessary.

"Fine," he gritted out. Sam seemed to take this as acquiescence and gingerly alighted in the chair next to him. He and Andrew studied each other curiously.

"So," Andrew continued, addressing his speech to Sam, "What is it you wish to know?"

Xander pulled up to the curb outside Andrew's building in his rental car. The drive had been fairly uneventful, but Xander was already feeling mildly better about life in general. Cruising down the road by himself, singing along with country and classic punk, stopping for the occasional greasy burger and fries, he had felt more at ease with himself than he had in a long time. Doing something as normal as taking a road trip, and not having to worry about anything other than the odd asshole changing lanes without signaling was a balm to his frazzled soul.

So it was with a song in his heart and a spring in his step that Xander pulled up outside of the building Andrew was currently occupying. He frowned as he noticed another battered looking vehicle parked not too far away. Xander couldn't remember if this was one of the buildings that had a "pass on by" spell on it or not, which would make the vehicle's presence suspicious, but just to be safe he snapped a quick photo with his phone.

He walked up to the door, grinning mischievously. He had opted to go with the element of surprise and not phoned ahead. Partly because he liked surprising Andrew, and partly so that Andrew couldn't attempt some sort of misguided welcoming party.

Xander was about to knock on the door when he noticed that it was already open. He looked down and saw a piece of wood wedged in the door. When he bent down to inspect it, he noticed it was crudely carved but undeniably a stake. Xander peaked inside at the darkened corridor. As far as he could see, the door was intact and there was no evidence of foul play. But Andrew would never be so careless as to leave his door unlocked. Not after what had happened the last time...

Xander resolutely shook off thoughts of prior Andrew schemes gone awry and made his way back to the car. His days of rushing into blindly into danger were long over.

" _Which_ ," he thought stubbornly, " _has nothing to do with the fact that there is no pretty girl around to impress_."

Andrew spent over an hour having a question and answer session with Sam and Dean. He was only too happy to play the role of Master Watcher and answer all their questions. After a certain point Dean stopped participating and just listened as Sam subtly directed the conversation to questions about angels and god.

Dean snorted softly, not that either geek in the room noticed. He'd gotten all he really needed to know fairly early on in the discussion. Movie monsters got killed in the movie monster way; everything else you needed to research and Andrew had given Sam a rundown of where to look. It grated on him-playing the part of idiot civilian when he'd spent his whole life fighting. Having to sit there and be talked down to by the nerd boy.

Going by what he'd said, it seemed like this world was different in that the demons were more like monsters, except for some of them who were harmless and more like weird looking people than supernatural fiends. " _More shades of grey. That'll be fun to figure out,_ " he thought sarcastically. Andy hadn't said much about alternate dimensions, but based on the little he'd let slip, it seemed like they were damn hard to get too. Meaning he really would never see Cas again...

Dean shook himself from his melancholia and tried to focus back in on the conversation. It sounded like they were wrapping up the love fest.

"Thank you so much for being willing to talk to us," Sam was saying, "I had no idea that witches weren't all evil." Andrew smiled indulgently while he petted the cat.

"Of course there are some who taste the godlike power of the beyond and become swept away by it's seductive siren song of...seduction." Dean rolled his eyes. "However, many are champions of goodness and light, children of the moon and protectors of the earth...guardians of-"

"OK!" Dean interrupted clapping his hands. They both started and stared at him, seemingly having forgotten his presence. He plastered a fake grin on his face. "Witches not evil, don't invite vampires inside, research anything else. We have any questions, we'll call you." Andrew looked miffed at being interrupted. Seeking to smooth things over, Sam jumped in.

"Again, thank you so much for talking to us. I know we must have seemed a bit suspicious, especially the way we burst in here." Andrew focused in on Sam again, dismissing Dean entirely.

"It's part of what I do. You're not the first innocents to fall beneath the candy-coated icing of reality and find yourselves lost in the dark wilderness of the harsh reality below." Dean fought not to roll his eyes a second time. "But those with ill intentions, feigning ignorance of the true reality of this world with deceitful tongues would be incapable of hiding their true nature from one such as me," he said with just a hint of smug confidence. Dean and Sam exchanged a look, pondering the meaning behind his words. After a moment of awkward silence, Dean gave it a mental shrug and stood to leave. Sam followed suit and stuck out his hand to Andrew.

"Well, anyway, thanks again." Andrew stood as well, unceremoniously dumping the tiny cat from his lap. She released a grumpy yowl and bounded away. Andrew shook Sam's hand with gracious ceremony.

"Of course. Feel free to call back with any questions. Either I or one of my associates will be happy to assist you during this your time of crisis." Andrew pulled a card from his pocket, waving it about with a charming smile. "Let me give you my card," he said amicably. Sam reach out to take the card, only to be flabbergasted when, with a flourish, Andrew quickly reached down and slowly slid the card into Sam's front pocket. Sam looked down at where Andrew's hand was slowly brushing against the front of his pants, a confused and panicked smile frozen on his lips.

Dean watched with a mixture of shock and amusement at Sam's expense .

After a long, loooooooooooooooooooooong awkward moment, Andrew pulled his hand back.

"Thanks." Sam said tightly. "I don't actually have a card, but you've got our number,"

"Yes, it was passed to me through our net of informants. Although I never got your last names...?" he trailed off. Dean and Sam exchanged a look. They had used their real first names because they didn't expect anyone to know them in this universe. By the same logic, it was probably safe to use their last names. Still, years of habit made Sam hesitate. Andrew noticed his hesitation and his countenance cooled fractionally. Dean noticed and, wanting to get out of there, quickly stepped forward.

"Don't mind him, it's just been a weird day. Our names are Sam and Dean Winchester, it was nice to meet you, and we'll be in touch." Dean patted him patronizingly on the back and started to walk away. Sam flashed another uncomfortable smile and started to pull away, only to stop short when Andrew's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, his face gone stiff and rigid.

"Sam and Dean...Winchester," he murmured, staring at them both. Dean didn't need to look at Sam to know he was just as on edge. They could both feel it; this meeting was about to take a drastic turn. Dean's hand drifted subtly down to his weapon.


	9. Chapter 9

The headquarters of the men of letters stood dark and still. Dust motes rested on tomes of untold power and knowledge. Cursed relics, scrolls soaked with blood and knowledge capable of destroying the world ten times over slept peacefully, unmindful of the passage of time as they awaited the return of their masters. Much as in the day when the Men of Letters abandoned this tomb, a deep melancholia permeated the stale air. Whether this emanated from the lonely books themselves or some supernatural entity, no one could say.

The stagnation of this mausoleum was suddenly rent in twain by a shuddering, rippling swell of magic that burst violently through an inner door with a thunderous splintering of antiquated wood. The remains of the door to a janitorial closet swung pathetically on its hinges as a gorgeous redhead, too good for this world, stepped through the recently created magic portal.

Charlie stumbled slightly, taking a moment to regain her equilibrium. She glanced behind her as the portal winked out of existence, leaving only the remains of a door which would forever remain shut: the door leading to Dorothy and pain and heartache, now closed forever.

It was only through the skin of her teeth that Charlie had been able to avoid the crazy last ditch split-yourself-in-half plan and managed to rally the Ozian rebels and win the day. It was everything that had happened after their victory that had made her glad to leave Oz in furtherance of one final mission. A mission she needed some intrepid hunters to help her with. She looked around, noting the distinct lack of noise.

"Bitches?" she called softly, hoping nothing dangerous lurked in the shadows. While she was no longer the mousy young innocent she had been when she left, the creatures she fought in Oz were vastly different from the ones in this realm. She was both ill equipped and out of practice, so she made her way through the dark passageways with caution.

Charlie placed her hand surreptitiously into the pocket of her super-cool-and-suspiciously-stylish-for-having-just-come-from-Oz leather jacket, loosely grasping the enchanted knife she kept on her person at all times. She swept the room with eyes expertly trained to seek out danger, finding nothing but mothballs and aged dust. With the skill of an woman who had spent several months stalking a yellow brick road in magical high heels, she silently crept through the empty halls in her black leather boots of sexyness.

The farther she walked, the more certain she was that she was alone, and the more unnerved she became by the stillness. She couldn't have explained it, but the air tasted stale, as though it hadn't been cycled through human lungs in quite some time. Suddenly, she heard a soft stirring coming form the direction of the boys' rooms. She moved towards it swiftly and silently, mentally trying to prepare herself for any possible situation. When she was before the door to Dean's room, where the source of the quiet noise had originated, she paused and readied herself. She heard a soft sigh from inside and without further hesitation kicked open the door and rushed inside with her knife drawn.

The source of the noise was sexily-if listlessly-sprawled across Dean's bed, staring up at the ceiling. The only reaction to her presence was a weary roll of his head towards the door. Charlie frowned in confusion. "Who the hell are you, and where are Dean and Sam?" She demanded. The man squinted at her and frowned. "My name is Castiel. Dean and Sam are no longer in this world."

Charlie blinked at the forlorn tone. She kept her distance, not coming further into the room, and examined the man. He was disheveled and greasy-looking, like he had lain down and not moved for days. He was wearing a dirty white t-shirt and jeans and clutching a flannel shirt in his left hand. Underneath the strangely rugged filth Charlie discerned the countenance of a sad, puppy-like man who seemed so pathetic it was hard to think of him as posing any sort of threat. She lowered the knife minutely as she scanned the room for latent threats.

"Castiel? As in the angel?" she asked hesitantly, glad to have finally remembered where she had heard that name. Although in her mind it was still tinged with Dean's daydreamy, pretending-not-to-be-totally-over-the-moon-in-forever-truly-as-you-wish-love voice of gruffness. Castiel let out a deep sigh.

"I am Castiel. But I am no longer an angel." Charlie blinked.

"Oh. Um. Sorry. I didn't know that was possible."

Castiel stared blankly up at the ceiling and shrugged.

"It's not the most common occurrence. Most angels would prefer a clean death to losing their grace and becoming human, only to endure a slow, humiliating crawl towards death."

An uncomfortable silence descended as Charlie processed this statement. It allowed Castiel's maudlin thoughts to drift unerringly back to the moment at the reconciliation counsel which had precipitated his current predicament. Gabriel had been his same annoying, enigmatic self and announced in no uncertain terms that the only way for the rebel faction and the angels of order to reach an agreement was for Castiel to remove himself from the picture.

"Listen, Cas," Gabriel had said to Castiel, "as long as you're skirting the edge of these political negotiations, neither side can truly trust the other, or believe that the conflict is over. I mean, hell, you've been hand picked by Dad as worthy of resurrection. On numerous occasions. Is it any wonder you make people nervous?"

"But-" Castiel had started to argue.

"Face it, Cas, you rock the boat. Always have always will. If you truly wish for a heaven united, you need to take yourself out of the equation."

Castiel had considered his words. And he had to admit, Gabriel had a point. No matter how he tried to do good, to do the right thing, he invariably sowed the seeds of discord and chaos, whatever his endeavor. It made sense that the orderly angels of heaven would refuse to allow access to the rebels still loyal to him. He had tried to wrest power before; logic dictated he would try again.

"What would you have me do?" he asked wearily. Gabriel had smiled smugly, in that irritating way of his that made you feel everything up to this point was mere preamble to capitulation.

"Simple bro. Give up your grace."

The uproar which had followed that statement was lost to Castiel. He was too shocked to respond. Eventually he managed to choke out an answer that managed to perfectly encapsulate his incredulity and horror:

"What?"

Gabriel swung an arm around his shoulders.

"Listen, Cas," he said, turning Castiel away from the now furiously arguing assembly, "nothing less than a permanent solution will suffice. You're too symbolically important at this point. If you run, they'll chase you. If you hide, they'll seek you out. If you're killed, you become a martyr and it all starts up again. If you make yourself powerless, die slowly as a human, it shows the establishment you're no longer a threat, and it shows the rebels your dedication to reconciliation. And hey," he added with a sarcastic pat on the back, "It's not like this world has anything you want. Anymore."

Castiel glared at Gabriel, even as he pondered these words. True, Gabriel was a trickster, and likely there was a hidden agenda behind his sudden appearance and seemingly perfect logic. His apparent knowledge of Dean's absence was also highly suspicious. But he had also aided the Winchesters, at great threat to his own life, upon their last encounter. He had nearly died fighting Lucifer. Surely that meant he was trustworthy?

Castiel was drawn from his hesitation by the sound of the table cracking. He had looked up to see Ermiel breaking the table in half with a particularly aggressive gesture. Looking around the room, it was suddenly brought home with startling clarity that the negotiations had broken down, and once more, his brothers were about to shed familial blood. For his sake.

Suddenly Castiel couldn't take it anymore. Every poor decision, every failed attempt to make things right, all the blood on his hands. All of it came down on his shoulders. And it crushed him. Crushed his tiny little angel soul all to bits.

He didn't notice Gabriel's triumphant smirk as he stepped forward purposefully and held his angel blade aloft. With a crack of thunder he spread his wings, commanding the attention of the entire room.

As Castiel lay on Dean's bed, surrounded by the scent of his lost human, he turned his thoughts away from the the memory of excruciating, self-inflicted pain that followed.

"Huh." Charlie said with an adorable little chuckle. "Dean always said you were serious." She paused, frowning cutely, "he never said you were so...emo."

Castiel cast a lazy glare in her direction, but otherwise did not respond. Charlie coughed.

"Ok, so, anyway...you said Dean wasn't here. Do you know where he is?"

Castiel's gaze turned wary.

"What do you want with Dean?" he asked, eyeing her knife suspiciously. Charlie followed his gaze and quickly put the weapon away.

"Oh, hey, no, don't even!" she said quickly. "I'm like, totally on team Winchester. They even made me an official woman of letters. Maybe they mentioned me? I'm Charlie." Castiel's eyes lit with recognition.

"Ah, yes. Dean spoke of you. He said you were brave and smart."

Charlie felt a huge grin spread across her face.

"Really?" She gushed. Castiel nodded.

"He said you were the toughest nerd he'd ever met."

Charlie's smile dimmed minutely.

"Oh."

"And what I said was, Dean is no longer in this world."

For a horrifying split second, Charlie's sparkly red heart plummeted into her stomach.

"To be precise, he is no longer in this universe. Fearing the power of the mark, he and Sam fled to a realm without magic, cut off from heaven's power."

Charlie heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh, ok. Whooo! You had me going there, dude," she said with a relieved laugh. He frowned at her, apparently puzzled by her antics. She ignored his look as she considered this new information.

Dean and Sam were gone. That meant they wouldn't be able to help her complete her mission. Disappointing, but not insurmountable. She looked back into the hallway, towards the library.

"Mmmm...ok. I'm guessing they won't be back anytime soon..." she trailed off thinking. Castiel ignored her in favor of staring at the ceiling some more.

Charlie looked back at Castiel thoughtfully and took a tentative step towards him.

"So um, hey, Cas. Do you know how to find your way around this place?"

Cas shrugged once again.

"I assisted in research on occasion. I have a general sense of the organization of this place."

"That's great! Because I need your help."

"My help? With what?"

Charlie smiled in that mysterious, sexy way of hers.

"A locater spell."


	10. Chapter 10

"Oh really? Well that's a very interesting name, Winchester, one doesn't often here that-" he stammered quickly, reaching for something in the drawer of his desk. Sam reached for his gun at the same moment that Andrew reached down.

"Do it and you're dead." Andrew deadpanned, his hand hidden beneath the desk.

"Do it and _you're_ dead, you pasty freak," Dean growled, also now pointing a gun at Andrew, because that's what that sexy bastard does. Point guns at people and make it look good. My god it's taking all my willpower not to nust turn this into a maryjane and screw the crap out of him. And I'm a lesbian. That's a lesbian saying this. ANYWAY! He drew back the hammer, letting the click ring out in the silent room.

"Let's all just calm down..." Sam implored.

Right at that second, a melancholy, mechanical sounding dirge began playing, coming from the Adams-family-esque phone on Andrew's desk.

Andre used the momentary distraction to crush the small orb in his desk drawer. A flash of light suffused the room, followed by a blast of ice cold air.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, moving towards his little brother.

Or at least he would have, had he been able to move any of his limbs. Glancing at Sam, he realized that he too was completely held stiffened in the rigidity of his position.

"Let us go, damnit!"

Andrew looked at him warily.

From exactly the same position he had been in prior to the light show.

"Ummmmmm...that's...not...so much an option..."

Dean glared as much as he was able.

"Are you freakin kidding me?! What the hell did you do?"

"It's not my fault! _I_ wasn't supposed to get frozen!"

"Well undo it!"

"I can't! Not while I'm frozen too!"

"Well then how do we get out?" Sam demanded

Andrew was suspiciously silent. Sam and Dean exchanged a panicked look - as best they could.

Their panic did not last long, however, as a convenient plot device stormed through the door into the office.


	11. Chapter 11

Xander surveyed the scene before him with the jaded amusement of a veteran Scooby. The bizarre tableau somehow reminded him of the school talent show. Two unearthly gorgeous specimens of manhood were wrapped in some sort of magical entrapment, but it looked like one of them had Andrew in a pretty tight spot as well, with his gun pointed at the blond's throat.

"Well!" he said aloud. "This is probably not as bad as the thing I expected to walk in on. Andrew, wanna fill me in?" he asked, tucking his hands in his pockets and tilting his head in charming befuddlement. Andrew's jaw clenched.

"These two impostors wormed their way in here by donning the guise of mild mannered innocents who happened upon the darker nature of our world, but revealed themselves to be nothing more than tempting wolves in enticing sheep's clothing by divulging their true names!"

Xander, who was used to Andrew by this point and accepted his dramatic nature, didn't so much as blink at the lengthy diatribe.

"And their true names would be...?"

"Winchester. Sam and Dean Winchester," Dean interrupted with just a touch of irritation. "And we didn't "don" any "guise," we genuinely came here for help but as soon as we told him our names this psycho Dracula wannabe hit us with some mojo and now none of us can move." Xander stared at Dean's ruggedly handsome jaw as he gritted out the necessary exposition.

And even while that name was tickling long forgotten neural pathways, Xander couldn't help the errant thought that swam through his sexually frustrated brain: " _dear god, he's pretty_."

Aloud, he merely said, "Ok, so...not entirely sure what's going on just now, but I'm getting the sense that all is not copacetic with tall and handsome over here. So Andrew, any way I can just unfreeze you?"

Andrew's response was cut off by Sam's earnest voice earnestly butting in.

"You're right," he said quickly. "We weren't totally honest."

"Sam!" Dean yelled, eyes cutting angrily towards his little brother, trying to convey what the rest of his body was incapable of expressing. That he needed to shut up right the hell now.

Xander watched the exchange impassively, noting that Sam, while totally rocking the tall, full haired, sensitive thing, had nothing on Mr. Gorgeous Green Eyes.

"It's true, we weren't completely honest," Sasquatch continued on, "but honestly, we just didn't want you to think we were completely nuts."

Xander grinned cockily, all boyish charm and irresistible cupid bow lips that you just want to bite until they're all kiss swollen and delicious. "Try me."

 _Black. Darkness. Dankness. Stenchquietdrippingsleepingquietstrechingononon._

 _Nothing the same._

 _Buried forever,forgotten. point. No ._

 _Dark,quiet,dank,foreversleep._

Scent.

 _. ._

Scent. Spark.

 _.canthopecantdreamcanthurtscant it huuuuuuuuuurts..._

SPARK!

In the solid darkness of the heart of the Eternal Slumber, six eyelids heavy with caked dirt and age and stone and blood and eternity slid open. Life returned to the Malformed. And the air trembled.

"Soooooo...what you're essentially telling me," Xander summarized, sitting on Andrew's desk and petting the small kitten which had flung itself into his lap, demanding affection with hedonistic abandon, "is that you got cursed in your world, tried to Slide to a world without magic, and for some inexplicable reason wound up here?"

Sam tried to nod, remembered he couldn't, and said, "Yeah, that's about the size of it." Xander was silent for several minutes as he assimilated their tale of wonder. The little kitty purred contentedly under his masterful ministrations. Dean looked on with subconscious interest.

"Yeah...ok. What you've said fits, for the most part. Although you have gone out of your way to tell me as little as you possibly can," he said with a chastising grin in Sam's direction.

"And they're not telling you everything!" Andrew piped up, following his uncharacteristically long silence. "They're not who they claim to be! They've stolen their identities, nay, their personas, from a graphic novel found only in this world!"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"We're telling the truth, asshat! The fact that we popped up in comic books here just means that you got a psychic or a prophet in the nerd business."

"Oh please! If I had a nickel for every time someone tried that hackneyed explainer I'd...have...several nickels!" Andrew shouted.

Xander studied Dean's face. Aside from looking pissed off, he also looked incredibly stressed out. And suddenly it clicked.

"Oh! You mean that super gay comic you sent me when I was in Africa?"

Everyone glared at Xander. As well as they were able, what with the being frozen and all.

Xander just grinned like a guy who wasn't frozen. And then suddenly stopped grinning.

"Hey!" Dean shouted as Xander took an intent step into his personal space. Xander ignored him in favor of staring at his arm.

"Hey Andrew, will anything bad happen to me if I touch someone who's been frozen by this spell?" Andrew was silent for a moment as he tried to shake his head, realized he couldn't, and cursed inwardly.

"No, it won't affect anyone who wasn't in the room at the time of casting."

Moderately reassured, Xander reached forward and pulled the sleeve of Dean's shirt farther up his arm. In addition to revealing Dean's delicious man smell and radiating warmth, the gesture revealed the sinister occult mark which had been burned into Dean's arm.

"Wanna tell me what that is?" he asked, looking into Dean's eyes which he realized too late were much too close to his own. He ignored the quickening of his heart, instead giving his best Willow-inspired Resolve Face. He doubted it would work on a guy he'd just met and who may or may not be evil, but he figured it was worth a shot. Amazingly, staring into his mystic green depths, Xander thought he detected a hint of embarrassment and shame before it was replaced with blank hostility.

"Skiing accident." he said flatly. Sam rolled his eyes. Xander frowned for a moment, and then nodded decisively. He pulled out his camera and snapped his second pic of the evening. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away from the warm presence that was Dean Winchester.

"Alright. Andrew, sit tight. I'm gonna confer with the Home Office, see if they have any idea what that nifty little mark is. I sympathize with your stony plight, but before I completely undo the enchantment I want an idea of how dangerous these two are."

Andrew let out an aggrieved sigh.

"Do as you must, I shall endure."

Xander contained a snort of laughter, not wanting to undermine Andrew in front of potential threats, and walked out into the hall. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall as he dialed Giles. He picked up on the second ring.

"Xander?"

"G-man. Get the pic I sent you?"

"Yes, although I've hardly had time to look into it."

"I know, I was just hoping you could give me a quick impression, dangerous or harmless. Andrew's got two gun wielding rednecks stuck in some kind of freeze spell, which he actually got himself stuck in too. One of the gun wielding rednecks had that burned into his arm."

"Oh dear. Are you in any danger?"

Xander smiled at the concern in his voice. The Scoobies may have spread out a bit, but they had all grown closer following the fall of Sunnydale.

"I'm fine for the moment. Just sort of wondering how to proceed. I don't think I can unfreeze Andrew without unfreezing the other two. So if that mark means he's actually a long leggedy beasty in disguise, I think I'll hold off on the rescuing of Andrew for a bit."

"Mmm. Well, I don't recognize it, and quite frankly, it looks like something a drunken teenager would get during his rebellious phase. However, it is best to be cautious about these things. Despite what you children seem to think, I do not know every magical symbol in creation by heart." Xander grinned. Giles's irritated voice would never cease to give him a warm fuzzy for simpler days in a high school library.

"Works for me. So should I just..." Xander trailed off suddenly. He looked down the hallway towards the elevator. The torches cast flickering lights throughout the hallway, darkening the shadows which seemed suddenly more dense than the wholesome shadows of the world above-ground. He couldn't have said how, (wouldn't have bothered if you asked), but he could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck and he knew with life saving certainty that he was not alone.

"Xander?" Giles asked tentatively, sensing the menacing tone of the sudden silence.

"Not sure, Code Magpie," he said quietly, staring into the darkness and slowly walking backwards. He was just crossing the threshold into Andrew's office when six pairs of shiny red eyes sparked open in the far corner. Xander gave up all pretense of stealth and slammed the doors to Andrew's inner sanctum shut just as the eyes and attached body lunged for him. Xander bolted the door as the thing slammed against the other side.

"What's that?" Dean asked nervously, rolling his eyes back as far as they would go. "What the hell is that?"

"Xander?" Andrew asked nervously. Xander's eyes darted around frantically as the thing started slamming itself against the door.

"Apparently something followed me in. What do you got in the way of defense here, Andrew?"

Andrew made a noise of distress in the back of his throat. "this place is practically a fortress-"

"Oh thank god," Xander breathed.

"-when I'm at the controls." Xander's heart sank. He looked between Andrew, the door, and the frozen brothers. He hesitated a moment, painfully aware of the pounding of certain and painful death on the other side.

"Ok, so, any way I can raise the defense grid in your stead?" he asked just on the edge of sarcasm. Andrew rolled his eyes.

"Can you do magic, Xander?" Xander winced.

"Alright, guess we're out of options then. How do I unfreeze you?"

"Xander, you can't! What if they summoned that creature with their minds in an effort to manipulate you into doing just exactly what you're proposing?" Andrew asked shrilly.

"Hey!" Sam and Dean exclaimed at the same time with comparable levels of outrage.

"Well, then, the beast they summoned is still gonna kill us both when it breaks through what I'm guessing is right now just an ordinary overly-ostentatious door. So tell me how to unfreeze you."

"Hey!" Andrew yelled. "There is nothing ostentatious about that door! The guy who installed it called it brilliantly understated!"

"Andrew!" Xander yelled urgently as the thing slammed against the door hard enough to make it crack. Andrew made an annoyed sound in his throat before acquiescing.

"Fine! In the desk drawer." Xander ran around the desk to where Andrew stood frozen. The desk drawer stood open with his hand inside. It was resting atop a cheap looking black ceramic skull.

"What do I do?" Xander asked as a chunk of the door flew inward.

"Break the skull!"

Not wanting to risk touching anything else on Andrew's desk, Xander drew his knife and slammed the handle into the side of the skull. It mostly glanced off the smooth surface but managed to crack it nonetheless.

Apparently that was enough because all three men immediately went stumbling from their awkward poses. They had just enough time to glance at each other in wary trepidation before the door exploded inward, spraying debris throughout the room.

Xander stared at the gaping hole where the door used to be, knife still in hand. The thing on the other side of the doorway was difficult to describe. Largely because it was difficult to look at. The thing seemed to be there and at the same time not, as though it were absorbing the light around it. In the hall it had seemed like a shadow, but now Xander realized it was just borrowing the appearance of its surroundings, aside from six glittering ruby eyes which were vibrating sickeningly. Staring at the thing gave Xander an unaccountably sickening sense of nausea, and judging from the gagging sounds he could hear coming from Andrew he guessed it wasn't just his own sensitive disposition.

Apparently the hunters were made of slightly sterner stuff because the room suddenly rang out with the deafening thunder of gunshots. The thing seemed largely unimpressed by the sudden show of ballistics. The bullets appeared to absorb into the noxious swirling colors that composed its body and it continued to slither forward. Xander grabbed Andrew by the shoulders from where he was hunched over dry heaving.

"Andrew! Defense!" He yelled into Andrew's glazed expression. Despite what seemed to be overwhelming nausea, Andrew managed to gather himself and nodded resolutely. He scrabbled for something on the table. He snapped what looked like a tiny finger bone in half and muttered something Xander couldn't quite hear. Suddenly, the air above the monstrosity rippled, and swirled, taking on a burnt quality. Before Xander realized what was happening, the air thickened into an amber liquid which dripped down to encase the crawling creeper. The weird liquid seemed to have some effect as the thing began thrashing sluggishly against the gold-brown cocoon. Before it could fight itself free, Andrew ran forward and made a hilariously flamboyant gesture before the struggling mass. Before their eyes, the goo slowly hardened into a dark lump the color of burnished brass, until there was nothing but a grotesque statuary in the middle of Andrew's once orderly lair.

The brothers stopped firing once they realized the abomination no longer posed a threat. Gradually getting to their feet they glanced around the room, first at each other to make sure they were both okay, and then at the wreckage. Dean was the first to speak.

"What the hell was that?"

Xander looked at Andrew, but Andrew was still shaking and looked deathly pale in the aftermath of having to fight through nausea to cast magic. Plus, he didn't look like he had any more clue than the rest of them. Xander looked back to Dean and shrugged helplessly.

"Demon, probably? Never run across something like that before. But hey, it takes all kinds," he said with a weak attempt at humor. Dean didn't seem to notice as he looked back at the monstrosity.

"Ok then. Well, this has been a very enlightening experience," Dean said briskly, holstering his weapon, "but we're just gonna go. You geeks have fun with your psycho freaky demons, and you're dungeons and dragons. Okay?" he said with a fake smile. Xander frowned as Dean strode towards his brother, inadvertently crossing directly in front of the frozen horror.

"Whoa, wait a minute. That thing showed up at the same time you did," Xander said, taking a definitive step forward before his animal brain had a chance to shout ' _what are you doing, idiot!? He has a gun_!'

Dean paused mid-stride, coincidentally and with absolutely no relevance to the plot managing to stop directly in front of the solidified beast. He stared at Xander challengingly.

"And your point is?" he asked sarcastically. Xander felt a flash of irritation.

"My _point_ is that the only reason any of us survived this attack was Andrew's foresight and skill. If you leave now we can't protect you."

Dean couldn't help the incredulous smile that formed on his lips. Staring at this kid, finally seeing him and taking his mettle for the first time, Dean realized that Xander was serious. For whatever reason, this kid legitimately, earnestly wanted to protect him. Dean found himself...oddly touched. The only person who had ever wanted to protect him was Dad, and that had only lasted so long. It was a nice, strange, somewhat warm feeling. Dean reacted the same way he usually did when confronted with confusing emotions. He lashed out with sarcasm.

"Well, thanks, what was it, uh...Xanadu? But, I think we'll take our chances."

Xander winced inwardly. No matter how many times it happened, being casually belittled and dismissed by the cool kids still stung. Only now that he was a self actualized adult, he could push past that sting to rational thought fairly quickly.

"Oh yeah? Gonna rely on your crazy redneck fightin' skills? Cuz that worked out sooooo well for you this time." Two could play the sarcasm game. Dean glared.

"Look, you-"

*CRACK!*

All conversation stopped as the sound reverberated throughout the room. Dean and Xander looked at each other in startlement.

*SNAP!*

With comically timed slowness, they both looked towards the horrific sculpture in the middle of the room. Dean was closer, and so more able to perceive the way the statue slowly moved within its hard amber shell. It was bulging outwards towards the place where Dean stood motionless, as though the dark presence inside were reaching for him through it's rigid prison. Dean took a step back, realizing with alarm that the statue's movements were becoming uncomfortably more rapid.

"Sammy," he said gruffly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

A deafening splintering noise rent the air, this time accompanied by a visible crack in the globular mass.

"Hey Andrew..." Xander said slowly, "is it supposed to do that?"

Andrew was staring in shock at the slowly morphing form, too stunned to answer. Xander figured the question was mostly rhetorical anyway. Freezing in fear had long since been terrified out of him. He turned and in a swift, almost graceful motion scooped Andrew up in a fireman carry and started heading for the door.

"We gotta go!" he yelled at the two brothers. Dean was staring in fascinated horror at the shape that was slowly reaching for him. He noticed with sickening realization that the thing was reaching towards his forearm. Towards the mark.

"Hey!" Xander yelled in his ear, bringing him suddenly to attention. "Move your ass!" Dean glared but found his body moving on instinct at the curt command. With a glance at Sammy to make sure he was following, he ran after Xander and the flopping form of Andrew as they hauled ass away from the quickly crumbling cage.


	12. Willow's Vignette

Willow sighed despondently. She was sitting in a small cafe in New Brunswick, sipping the sweetest, most over-the-top-barely-still-recognizable-as-a-coffee-beverage and staring into her laptop. She frowned with adorable intensity as the harsh light from the screen reflected off her pale skin. She was exchanging emails, coordinating with agents of Summer Joys™ across the globe and other boring, managerial type things that she found herself responsible for nowadays. She took a break to stretch her lithe figure and stare dolefully out the rain-streaked window.

After the Fall of Sunnydale, several things had happened, including many epic tales and side adventures that could easily be told as one-shot stand alone stories. However, in the end the survivors had reformed the Council and the Scooby gang in a completely new form. The idea had strangely enough come from Xander. They had all been relaxing and eating Chinese food on the floor of Giles' new flat, much to his chagrin. The subject of Angel's abrupt descent into evil lawyerdom had come up, mostly because it was so ridiculous to think of "Grr! Arg!" Angel as a CEO. The jokes had been endless.

"But seriously, what was his plan?" Dawn had asked between giggles. "Vanquish evil through aggressive corporate restructuring?"

Buffy had shrugged, amused despite her conflicting feelings. "I think he had himself convinced he could 'change the system from the inside' or something." Xander had rolled his eyes.

"Puh-leez! This is what happens when you cut yourself off from pop culture. Everyone knows you don't defeat the evil organization by joining it. You set up your own, non-evil organization of equal or greater power. Legion of Doom v. Superfriends, Death Eaters v. Order of the Pheonix, GI Joe v. Cobra." Dawn had laughed.

"But Xan," she had said while smiling that endearingly beatific smile that reminded them all the world was worth saving, "neither side ever wins when you do that. You just keep fighting forever. You know, until the show gets canceled." Xander had waved off her concerns with a nonchalant chopstick and delved further into his chow mein.

"Well that's cuz it's all TV. We'd do it right." As the conversation moved away towards what Harmony was probably doing right then, Willow and Giles' eyes met across the room, and a flickering of mad imagination sparked between them.

From there it had been a lot of hard work and research to organize the Scoobies, the remaining Council members, and their allies into a multinational nonprofit organization. To the world they were a relief organization comparable to the Red Cross, providing relief for natural disasters. It wasn't far from the truth, the only difference being that they tended to focus their efforts on natural disasters that were more "super." The council funds provided the seed money, and the finance department kept it going by managing donations, investments, and random lucrative treasures that they stumbled across in their work. Most of the slayers and associated witches chose to work as independent contractors rather than employees, going about their regular lives but putting out fires when they arose in geographic proximity. Willow and the original Scoobies had regulars salaries, however, as well as total control of the organization.

At first it had been exciting; a new challenge that required Willow's books smarts instead of her magic skills. It was fun. But now that it was all set up and running more or less smoothly, she was bored. Take this most recent crisis. Once the seers started going nuts, her phone started blowing up with panicked messages. But it had only taken a few hours to develop a protocol, and now everyone was managing things pretty well on their own. Unfortunately, Willow still had to call everyone back and go over the same information, over and over again. It got so ridiculous that she eventually turned off her phone just to get a break. No one was in any danger, and they all had her email. She shuddered to think of her voicemail. When she had complained to Giles he had suggested she hire an assistant. It made sense, but Willow had hesitated. Hiring an assistant would make her position permanent, a commitment she wasn't ready to make. She missed studying magic, and she really wanted to get back into teaching. But she felt like she was the only one who could shoulder the responsibility.

She looked at her phone, lying innocuously next to her laptop on the scarred coffeehouse table, and grimaced. There was another reason she didn't want to turn on her phone. It wasn't just psychics and slayers who she was avoiding. Willow let her mind wander back to the terrible, awful first date she had had last weekend. It had been in a cafe much like the one in which she currently sat-slightly more bohemian to attract the young college kids, with twinkle lights and eclectic pictures of random nonsense on the walls.

The date had been with a young medium named Lynn. She was small, and had a shy smile and soft brown hair. She was full figured and voluptuous, so when she had randomly approached Willow after her lecture on "Protection Against the Unhappy Dead," Willow had agreed to the woman's invitation for coffee and conversation. Boy had that been a mistake. It had started out innocently enough, and Willow had been fairly charmed by her sweetness, but after they had sat down with their drinks, things had taken an uncomfortable turn.

"So, I just have to ask," the girl had said coyly, her beautiful slender fingers fiddling with the empty remains of her sugar packet in a maddeningly distracting way that had Willow's mind wandering, "Did you really kill a God?" Willow had blinked back to reality at that question.

"Wha-?" she asked, thrown off guard.

"I mean, all those stories about you. Are they true? How you started out with no powers, defeated a god, spiraled downward into addiction and then found redemption through the power of friendship to become the most powerful witch in the world and defeat the first evil?!" As Lynn had been talking her voice got more and more excited and she leaned farther and farther towards Willow who found herself leaning unconsciously away. When she finished her diatribe Lynn was panting and staring at Willow with giant eyes filled with wonder and raw, naked hunger.

" _Oh dear sweet Goddess_ ," Willow had thought with the desperation of a trapped animal. " _She's a fan girl._ "

Willow had managed to extricate herself by faking an emergency, but since then the girl hadn't taken a hint. She had even showed up at Willow's office once. Willow had never been so glad to have teleportation powers. She frowned and sipped her caffeinated beverage. She couldn't really blame Lynn. Nothing she'd said was untrue. Willow's legend among those in the magical community was pretty...legendary. It was an awkward hurdle when she tried to date people who knew that she was a recovering addict who once brain-raped her girlfriend and tried to destroy the world. It was an even more awkward hurdle to date people who knew nothing of the supernatural, mostly because the small talk was by turns impossible and insincere.

Willow sighed again, receiving a nasty glare from a hipster across the way. She could only assume the weather was to blame for the direction of her melancholy thoughts. Talking to Xander had helped a little, and it was good to know that even if he wasn't completely alright, he was coping. That was pretty much all that could be said for the Scoobies nowadays.

She stared challengingly at her phone, knowing that she would have to turn it on eventually. She was saved as her laptop lit up suddenly with an urgent new message from Giles. She clicked on the message, and her eyes grew wide with awe, and then crossed with confusion.

"Wait, what?"


	13. Spike's Vignette

Johnny yawned, his sinewy arms stretching across the broad expanse his king sized bed that took center stage of his bachelor pad above the bar where he worked. He flapped his arm around haphazardly, surreptitiously checking for another body in his bed and inadvertently causing the black satin sheets to inch slowly down his perfect, lickably translucent skin. He sighed in a mix of relief and disappointment when he realized he was alone. He opened flawless crystalline blue eyes and stared up at the ceiling, pleased that his hangover was minimal. Life had been a series of weird ups and downs since he had stumbled into a hospital in Los Angeles with no memory of who he was and severe dehydration.

Apparently he was the type of guy who was friendly and charming, because he'd made friends with the nurses and the other patients on the ward, some of whom he still kept in touch with. They were pretty much his only friends and family; one nurse in particular had gone above and beyond the call of duty to help him get in touch with a legal aid organization that helped expedite the process of getting him out of the hospital and giving him a new identity. He had jokingly chosen John Van Winkle, because he felt very much like he had woken up after drinking with the fairies to a world that wasn't his. He couldn't quite explain that feeling, but he knew it to be true.

Since he'd gotten out of the hospital, John found he gravitated towards the darker side of life. Which was odd, since he also seemed to be a nerd. A lit/poetry nerd, to be precise. Although something made his heart feel oddly tight when he saw old episodes of Star Trek. Johnny was unsurprised to find that he was also the type of guy to shrug off those types of dichotomies and just roll with the punches. Sometimes the literal punches, as he found he was almost unrealistically good at hand to hand combat.

He had rambled around in his fashion for a bit, hoping that if he traveled far enough, flamboyantly enough, he would eventually meet someone who knew him; who missed him. Plus some fairly creepy lawyer types had started poking around the hospital. Johnny couldn't trust much, but what he could trust was his gut, and his gut said everyone would be safer if he rode off into the sunset. And so he had.

He'd landed the bar job on a fluke. He'd come there trying to hustle some pool-which was apparently one of this inherent amnesia skills-but wound up putting down a bar fight which would have otherwise been fairly costly in terms of property damage. When the manager had asked how he could repay him, Spike Johnny had jokingly asked for a job. When the manager had actually given him a job, Johnny had been shocked to find that he was actually a kickass bartender.

Life had gone on fairly pleasantly after that, until the bar had been taken over by an anonymous corporate owner who had not only kept everything the same, but significantly raised everyone's salary, to a ludicrous amount for anyone in the the restaurant industry, especially for that weirdly out of the way location. The new ownership had even offered an educational allowance which Johnny had jumped on. Now he was halfway to a degree, had a job he liked, people who depended on him, who liked him even, and everything was great.

Still ,a frown couldn't help puckering his gorgeous pink lips. Something was off. It was all too easy. For some reason a flash of one of the regulars, a one eyed drunk with depression, flashed before his eyes. A really sorry sod, he always looked like the world had beat him down and kept on swinging. Johnny didn't deserve this life. THAT he felt in his gut. Something was wrong, and that certainty was like a thorn in his heart, preventing him from really enjoying life. He was seeing a therapist (the new owners also provided incredibly affordable healthcare) and he knew he shouldn't think like that, but that didn't stop the quiet, singsongy British voice that came to him between sleep and awakening, smelling of Jasmine and covered in silk ribbons and dolls hair ringlets, telling him that this wasn't right.

Johnny shook his head vehemently, trying to shake off the last niggling thoughts of wrongness. Instead he looked up into the skylight, planned out his day, a mix of studying and work, and tried to focus on the positive before he levered his glistening naked body out of bed and in the direction of some coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

"This is stupid." Cas said flatly. Charlie glared at him from where she stood dangling a crystal pendant over a large atlas. Every few seconds she would turn the page and watch for another reaction.

"Hey, this is a legitimate locator spell. Found it in a creepy old book and everything," she insisted. "Plus I like the imagery." Castiel sighed.

"This is taking forever."

"I know. But I have no idea where in the world the stupid thing is." Cas frowned in irritation, glancing longingly back toward Dean's bedroom. The sooner she knew where her precious artifact was, the sooner she would leave and he could go back to dying in peace.

"No idea at all? How did it get lost in the first place? Maybe we can narrow down the search area."

"All I know is that after Glinda gave the Golden Cap that controls the Winged Monkeys back to their King, he hid it somewhere no one would ever find it. But then someone must have found it because all of a sudden, Winged Monkeys started disappearing from Oz. Eventually one of them made it back and said that he had been abducted suddenly into a world which he described as looking very much like ours. He said the Golden Cap had a new master who forced him and his brethren to attack some innocents. So I came here to find it, destroy it, and if need be, shepherd other Winged Monkeys back home. It was the pact we made when they became our allies in the war against the Darkness. If I don't find it we forfeit the Emerald City and a portion of the Munchkin Lands."

Cas listened to her story, stripped away the extraneous parts, and summarized the useful bits: "So, you have an eyewitness account which places the...Golden Cap, in a world that looks somewhat like ours?" he asked at length. Charlie turned to look at him.

"Well, the monkey I talked to was describing cars and skyscrapers and at one point, the plot to Star Wars, so yeah, pretty sure it's our world," she said confidently. Cas felt a headache beginning to build behind his eyes.

"Charlie, there are literally millions of worlds in billions of universes which fit that description. Travel between them is incredibly difficult, and trying to find a random magical object among them is completely impossible. Go back to Oz and try to negotiate a better deal because your mission has already failed."

Charlie continued staring at him with her big, beautiful, liquid Charlie eyes. They swirled with uncertainly, momentarily at a loss in the face of this sudden setback. But Oz was a strange place and she had gotten used to the world throwing her curve balls. Her sparkling green eyes soon hardened with determination as a new plan formed in her supercomputer brain.

"Okay, Mr. Negative Nelly, don't get your panties in a wad. This just means I have to think outside the box. And clearly this," she said slamming the book shut, "is a waste of time. So," she rounded on Cas with a determined glare, "you're a millenias old angelic being stuffed to the brim with Enochian magic and sacred lore. So do YOU have any ideas on how to find a specific item across all the multiverse?"

Castiel bit back the sarcastic response that he'd thought of nothing BUT such a spell since sending Dean through the portal. Instead, he inclined his head magnanimously.

"It is true that in my travels I have come across a spell that would enable one to find such an item. However, in order to enact this spell we need a close physical and psychic connection to the item. Otherwise it will take an enormous amount of concentration and energy that I am unable to access in my present form."

Charlie's adorable tiny button nose wrinkled in thought. Then she snapped her fingers excitedly and began digging through her bag of holding.

"Ooh! I know just the thing!" A few seconds later she emerged triumphantly with a small, frayed, black feather. She brandished the feather with righteous purpose. "This feather belonged to one of the missing monkey children. Her mom gave it to me. That monkey must be in the same world as whoever summoned her, and, ergo, the Cap! Thus, we have a connection!" she explained excitedly.

Castiel watched her enthusiasm impassively. He plucked the feather delicately from her fingers.

"Fine. I'll cast the spell, open the portal. Then you'll be able to complete your quest," he said flatly before turning away. Charlie watched thoughtfully as he sliced into his own arm, heedless of the pain, and began drawing symbols on a blank space of wall.

"What're you going to do?" she asked curiously.

"I'm going to use my blood and an ancient Enochian spell to open a portal. The words have power on their own so it's fairly straightforward. You're lucky I'm here, though, it's not something a regular human could accomplish," he replied absentmindedly.

"No, I mean, after I leave," she continued, ignoring the unintended slight. Castiel shrugged without turning fully around.

"As I intended. I shall stay here and wait for death to claim me. Without my grace it should only be a matter of months, perhaps weeks." Charlie frowned at his blasé attitude.

"Well, that seems like a waste, doesn't it?" she asked timidly, a sneaky plan forming in her devious mind.

"How so?" he asked gruffly, throwing an irritated glance over his shoulder as he worked.

"Well, I mean, all your knowledge and experience could really come in handy. Especially since I'm not sure where I'm going, or what's waiting for me." Castiel shot her a suspicious glance. She met his gaze with giant, innocent eyes. "I mean, without your help I wouldn't have even been able to find the stupid Cap. And, you know, it'll probably be dangerous in the other world. I was hoping that Dean and Sam would be able to help protect me, but" she sighed, pausing for dramatic effect, "I guess I'm on my own." Castiel rolled his eyes as he continued his work.

He tried to block out her clumsy attempts to bait him into accompanying her on her journey, no doubt her attempt to save him from himself. However, in tuning her out his mind automatically ran towards everything Dean had ever said about her. He had spoken of her fondly, as one would of a favored younger sister; with pride and a fierce protectiveness. She was precious to Dean. Castiel turned that thought over in his head, contemplating its import. If he was destined to fade out of existence, it would be a fitting tribute to the man he...admired platonically, for Cas to dedicate his final act in this world to ensuring the safety of Dean's surrogate family.

He gave an exhausted, exasperated, long-suffering sigh. Charlie smiled triumphantly.

"Very well. I will accompany you on your quest. I suppose a heroic death is preferable to what I had planned." Charlie grinned happily. She ran forward and clapped him on the back with her small hand.

"That's the spirit!" she chirped. Cas merely rolled his eyes.

They both spent a few moments gathering their weapons and belongings and preparing to leave. Eventually they stood together in front of the wall of Enochian symbols Castiel had drawn. He had once again donned his trademark trench coat and hidden his Angel blade-and a few other weapons-on his person. With a shared nod to signal their readiness, Castiel whispered the occult incantation, the ancient language rolling off his tongue accompanied by the acrid scent of ionized dust particles. The air around them started swirling, drawing magic out of the ground and the air, gathering in the carefully drawn blood sigils and infusing them with power. Soon the symbols were sparking and crackling together, little lightning bolts of energy that multiplied and grew until the entire surface of the wall was a patchwork of roiling energy. Cas grabbed Charlie's hand in his, looking at her seriously.

"Ready?" She smiled at him, a bright, mischievous smile that seemed to say 'bring it on' and nodded curtly. Together, they ran into the swirling mass of energy and into their next adventure.

Unbeknownst to the two travelers, a certain smug, blond angelic figure was watching from the shadows with barely contained glee.


	15. Chapter 15

Xander was just clearing the shattered remains of the doorway when he heard and ominous shattering followed by an enraged, inhuman shriek. He did not look back. Not even when he heard Andrew yell something into his back.

If he had looked back, he might have seen some impressive sci-fi esque lazers glowing to life and beginning to fire on the screeching blasphemy. He might also have seen these lazers doing a fairly effective job of slowing the thing down, seeming to cause it immensely more pain than either brothers' bullets had.

As it was, Xander stared straight ahead, letting certain bits of his consciousness grey out so that lingering and commanding voices could take charge of his brain. A nifty trick he'd been practicing. Those commanding voices said keep moving and don't look back. The four men all piled into the elevator at the end of the hall. Xander slammed the button and carefully lowered Andrew to the floor. He leaned shakily against the wall.

The Winchesters pointed their guns out into the hallway as they waited for the doors to close. They could all hear the sound of lazers firing and inhuman cries of pain. The door was just beginning to close as the thing escaped back into the hallway. It was still difficult to look at but they could all see it was diminished and appeared wounded. It also appeared vicious and pissed. The lift doors slid shut just as the buzzing red eyes fastened on the fast-fleeing fellows.

As the elevator rose slowly up the shaft Xander fiddled with his phone.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Giles?" Xander said urgently, not waiting for a response, "I'm upgrading from possible Code Magpie to a definite Code Gromble. I hope you have eyes on the building cuz we're coming out hot."

"You're covered. The two armed men you mentioned?" Xander glanced at Dean and Sam. They still had their weapons trained on the door.

"Trusting them for the moment." There was a slight pause.

"Very well."

The carriage reached the top floor and they exited rapidly. Xander was helping Andrew through the door when he felt him hold back, resisting. Xander was about to throw him over his shoulder again before he noticed Andrew deliberately pressing buttons on the elevator keypad. When he finished Andrew leaned into Xander and they shuffled quickly down the hallway.

Xander glanced back when he heard a tremendous crash coming from the shaft, followed by another pained shriek as the elevator uncoupled from the cable and dropped on the creature crawling up the empty shaft after them. They burst through the outer doors and into the alley at a dead run. As soon as they were a respectable distance away they turned to face the building. The brothers aimed their guns at the door while Xander held his knife before him.

They waited in tense silence for a few moments while the thing inside howled with rage and pain.

"Xander."

A quiet voice came from behind Xander. He glanced over his shoulder as a soft-spoken brunette of medium height and solid stature appeared at his shoulder.

"Whoa!" Sam yelled, swinging his aim around as other figures seemed to materialize out of the darkness.

"Stand down!" Xander yelled at him commandingly. "I called them, they won't harm you." An older man and a young woman came forward to take Andrew who, despite being able to stand on his own, was still looking a little green around the gills.

"My name's Nadia. What's the situation?" the brunette asked Xander, apparently the squad leader. Once Xander was sure that neither Sam nor Dean were going to do anything stupid he turned his attention fully to the slayer.

"Monster broke in, started attacking, not sure what it wanted, but probably wants one or both of those two guys but it didn't seem capable of talking."

"Strengths and weaknesses?" she asked brusquely.

"Super fast, super strong, does something freaky with the light, might be able to become invisible. It resisted Andrew's magical defenses fairly easily."

"Lazers!" Andrew yelled from the ground where the field medics were assessing him.

"Come again?" Nadia asked.

"My automatic defense lazers seemed to hurt it. It might be sensitive to light." Nadia nodded.

"Understood. Magda! Raven! It's light sensitive." Two women who looked less GI Jane and more Rennfair enthusiast nodded and began drawing chalk symbols on the ground. Nadia turned towards Andrew.

"That the only exit?" she asked, gesturing towards the door they had just exited. He nodded. "Alright. Form a perimeter around the door. You guard Magda and Raven, you two watch the outsiders." She barked out orders efficiently, eyeing Sam and Dean warily. Three slayers surrounded the brothers while the others formed a semicircle around the door to the building.

They all listened intently-some with superhuman hearing-as the beast inside banged and clanged its way to the door.

Dean and Sam exchanged confused glances in the meantime.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean whispered, looking at the young, petite looking women surrounding them. Sam just shrugged his enormous lanky shoulders.

"No idea man, but I say we just roll with it for now."

All further conversation was put on hold as the monster violently burst through the door, swinging its bulbous head-like appendage back and forth as it took in the increased number of enemies.

"HOLD!" Nadia said loudly. No one moved, remaining tense as the thing surveying them slunk forward. All of a sudden the multiple eyes focused on something in the crowd, and more than one person noticed that they were directed towards Dean and Sam.

With the reflexes of a cobra the thing leaped upwards, completely bypassing the line of slayers in an arch designed to land right on top of the Winchesters.

"NOW!"

Magda and Raven made sudden movements and the entire alley lit up with a flash of pure daylight. The thing screamed, smoked, smoldered, and phased out of existence with its ephemeral talons just centimeters shy of Dean's head.

Xander breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Nadia.

"Thank you so much Nadia. It's great to see you again," Xander said earnestly. She smiled at him, her shiny lip gloss lips pulling back to reveal model-perfect straight white teeth.

"You remember me. I'm glad." He smiled.

"I remember anyone who saves my ass on more than one occasion."

"Hey!" Dean yelled. They both looked over towards him.

"Would somebody mind telling me what the HELL is going on here?" he asked angrily. "Who the hell are you people, and what the hell was that?!" Momentary silence followed his intense question. Xander piped up at length.

"In order of questions asked, one, what's going on is we're saving your butt, and two, we don't know what that was, but there is definitely a research party in our future."

"Fan-freakin-tastic," Dean muttered, lowering his gun to his side.

"They hostile?" Nadia asked Xander, eyeing them both suspiciously.

"Yes"

"No"

Xander and Andrew answered at the same time. They glanced at each other in irritation.

"They're grumpy, but not irrational, and I don't think they're evil," Xander explained. "There's definitely something not quite right with them but that thing was trying to kill them way more than it was trying to kill me and Andrew."

Dean glared at Xander's description but didn't contradict him. Sam chose that moment to chime in with his endearing two cents.

"Hey, no, we're not hostile," he said, visibly and obviously putting away his weapon. "And we're really grateful that you saved us," he said, letting the sincerity drip from his honeyed tongue, "without you I don't know what would have happened. But really, we don't know what that thing was or what it wanted."

Nadia eyed him suspiciously before turning back to Xander.

"So what now?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Now, we need to figure out what that thing was. And if they're willing, we should probably get those two somewhere safe," Xander said, gesturing to the brothers.

"Yeah, no freakin' way!" Dean yelled.

"Dean!" Sam said quickly. "A word?" He took Dean's arm and dragged him away from the slayers so that they could have a quiet discussion.

"What, Sam?" he said quietly.

"Maybe we should think about this."

"Think about what?"

"About letting them help us." Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Oh, come on, Dean! They just saved us,"

"We would have been fine-"

"And they're obviously organized. If they want to help us, I say we let them. At least for now. If we need to we'll go our own way, but it seems like they've got resources that could help us."

Whilst they were having their private conversation, Xander, Nadia, and Andrew were having a parallel discussion.

"Xander, this is obviously a trap. They exposed themselves to us and then summoned that monster to attack them so that we would think them innocent and permit them entrance to our inner sanctum," Andrew implored.

Xander rolled his eyes. "If that were the case, they wouldn't have chosen personas so easily dispelled. They wouldve just chosen random, innocuous names. There's something else going on here."

"What do you propose we do?" Nadia asked Xander.

"Well..." Xander thought on this for a minute, staring at the brothers as they argued quietly. Watching them interact, he could see how on edge they both were, and how desperate the shorter one was to get the taller one away from all the potential threats. He could see a flash of controlled anxiety as Dean surveyed the scene. Then their eyes met briefly, and Dean's mask of bravado descended. He reminded Xander of Spike in the final days; desperately trying to keep those precious to him from being torn away by the thousands of threats that surrounded them while at the same time trying to hide how much he cared.

"I think the safest bet right now is to take them to the safe house. They'll be safe there, and the wards will keep them from harming anyone else. Plus, if they have malicious intentions we'll know exactly where they are. It's fairly win/win."

"Xander..." Andrew trialed off uncertainly. Nadia had no such hesitation.

"Are you sure that's safe? We could be playing right into their hands," she stated bluntly. Xander scrunched up his face into innocent confused Xander face.

"What do you mean?"

"Andrew suggested it earlier. That this whole attack could merely be a trick to gain your trust and get closer to you." Xander turned this thought over in his head before answering.

"Possible, but unlikely. Willow was the only one who knew I was coming here, and if they were trying to gain Andrew's trust they bungled it royally. Even if their ineptitude is part of their plan, the safe house is still the best option. Magically protected, violence free, and nothing super valuable."

"Do you think they'll go?" she asked. Xander shrugged.

"Aside from lying to us, and overreacting to Andrew's overreaction to their names they really haven't done anything to us. I think even if they say no, it'd be fine to let them go with low level surveillance."

Both groups' conversations seemed to wrap up at about the same time. Sam and Dean came to stand in front of Xander and Nadia while the rest of the party stood about; at rest but at attention.

"Sooooooooooooooooo? How we dooooooooooooooing?" Xander asked innocently, hands in pockets, looking back and forth between them. Dean had his arms crossed and was looking away angrily. Sam glanced at him and then back to Xander.

"We're fine. We're really grateful, for all your help. Right, Dean?" Sam said, staring pointedly at Dean and enunciating loudly. Dean glared at him, and then offered Xander and Nadia a bright, fake smile and a sharp nod. Xander chose to accept this as sincerity. He made a swishy motion with his hand.

"Ah, think nothing of it. S'what we do. So, did you guys have a place to stay while you're in this dimension? Cuz I got sort of a halfway house for wayward victims of random monster attacks, much like yourselves."

"Thank-"

" _Unlike_ yourselves," Xander continued over Sam's attempt at thanks, "they are not used to fighting monsters. They are civilians and innocents and if you act in a way that causes any of them further trauma or discomfort in any way, your invitation will be forcibly rescinded and you will be made to regret your actions." He paused for dramatic effect, glaring in a threatening way that only a one-eyed guy who's seen way too much can actually manage. Dean, who had seen his fair share of crazy shit, was mildly impressed but refused to show it.

"Yeah. I'm really scared of you and your army of teenage girls." he said mockingly. Xander just grinned.

"You've been warned. Now then," he said brightly, clapping his hands and switching gears from creepy threatening one-eyed soldier to regular Xander, "either of you ever been to Pennsylvania?"


	16. Chapter 16

"Huh." Charlie said, squinting in the bright California sunshine. She and Castiel had emerged on a lonely stretch of desert highway. The portal had opened horizontally on the cracked pavement, and they had been forced to bodily pull themselves up out of the dimensional void. Aside from a rusted road sign indicating their state of arrival, there was nothing but sand and highway for miles around.

Cas and Charlie surveyed the scene with trepidation. They had not anticipated emerging in this type of climate. There was nothing resembling civilization, and no cars for as far as the eyed could see in either direction. Charlie glanced down at the portal they had emerged from, just in time to see the sparks of magic waver and fade into nothingness. She and Cas glanced at each other.

"Well...now what?" Charlie asked, more to herself than to Cas. He glanced around.

"This is your adventure, Charlie. I'm just tagging along," he sighed unhelpfully. Charlie glared.

"But I thought the whole point of the spell was that the feather was going to lead us to the monkey child?" Charlie waited for Cas' reluctant nod of confirmation before continuing. "So," she said irritably, reaching into Castiel's trench coat and pulling out the feather to gesture with pointedly, "Where's the flying monkey?!"

Castiel's bored expression did not change as his eyes roved over the feather, and then Charlie, and then the desert.

"I'm not certain. But," he said, glancing upwards at cloudless, blue ,California sky, "logically, it would follow that if the child is not someplace we can see her, she must be someplace we cannot. My best guess would either be magical cloaking, or she's dead and her body is buried somewhere under the sand."

He glanced over abruptly when Charlie punched him in the arm.

"That's a terrible thing to say!" she said outraged. Cas gave a huff, mildly ashamed that he had put such an expression of distress on Charlie's face but at the same time cross with himself for allowing her to evoke such feelings so easily.

"I'm only listing possibilities," he defended sullenly.

"Well list better ones!" she yelled, gesturing wildly in her irritation. Unfortunately, she gestured a bit too enthusiastically and the feather slipped from her slender fingers. She gasped and clutched after it desperately. Her attempts were fruitless as the wanton feather sailed easily between her grasping hands to fly quickly away from her. She gave chase as it flew further from the road into an empty stretch of desert.

Castiel, who had noticed that there was no breeze in the arid desert air, trailed curiously after her.

Charlie ran after it as best she could, but her sexy clicky heels were sinking through the hard-baked crust of desert sand with a mocking crunch at every step. The feather remained ever elusively just in front of her. Charlie regretted her black leather fashion choices as she sweated after her prize. The feather slowed tauntingly in front of her and she smiled, lunging for it.

A moment later, she was lying on her back, staring up at the sky with a painful throbbing in her forehead.

Castiel - who had watched her slam into the invisible wall which the feather had floated towards - sauntered up beside her. He looked down at her prostrate body with the jaded eye of a battlefield soldier.

"You alright?" he asked politely. She frowned up at him.

"What happened?"

Cas shrugged. "I think you hit a wall." He looked towards the place where she had encountered resistance and put a hand out. He could feel something which to his now-human skin felt like a warm brick wall, but looked like empty air. He tilted his head, intrigued, and dragged his hand to the right, feeling for a break in the resistance. It didn't take long. He stumbled forward a bit as his hand slid off a sharp corner and sunk into the air ahead of him, seeming to disappear from the elbow down. He looked back down at Charlie who was trying to lever herself up.

"Option one was correct, I guess."

Charlie grinned and sprang to her feet. "Well come on then!" she said excitedly. Slightly more cautiously, she put her hands out in front of her, feeling for the opening Castiel had found. When she reached the space she pushed through excitedly.

"Cooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!" Charlie drawled excitedly. After passing through the cloaking shield, she and Cas had emerged in a ramshackle town that seemed to be an amalgamation of the wild west and Halloween Town .

The buildings were all brick, stone, or wood. Dirt roads ran between them littered with bikes and various debris. The town was mostly quiet, but as Castiel and Charlie walked down the alley between the brick houses and came upon the main road, they could see a few inhabitants of the town walking about. A mother and child walked down a sidewalk towards the end of the street. At first they appeared normal, but then Charlie noticed a tail peaking out from the woman's skirt, and a delicate set of horns on the boy's small head.

Charlie blinked and turned to Cas.

"What is this place?" He shrugged.

"Just looks like a town, to me. Perhaps..." he trailed off. Charlie was about to ask what he was thinking, when she saw what had caused him to lose focus. The feather was dancing in front of them again, spurring them on towards their ultimate goal. Charlie saw this and reacted with all the enthusiasm of a child on a treasure hunt.

"After that feather!" she cried, racing after as it continued to fly away. Cas' lips twitched at her obvious joy, and he found himself trailing after her with a slightly more energetic stride.

The feather led them to a big, Victorian inspired house at the end of main street. The door was painted green and there were brightly colored flowers in the window boxes. The feather stopped just short of the door and then shot upwards as though caught in a sudden updraft - despite the apparent stillness of the air.

Charlie watched in dismay as it disappeared into an open third floor window. She frowned.

"Hello!" she yelled up. Cas caught up with her.

"What are you doing?" he asked plaintively.

"The feather led us here. I think Reigna must be here."

"Reigna?"

"The monkey child. Hello?!" she called more loudly. They stood looking up at the window hopefully. Several moments passed but aside from the curious glance of a purple-humanoid passerby, nothing happened. Charlie was just about to hail again, when a creaking from the door alerted her attention.

Both she and Cas turned to see a tall, withered face with wrinkled brown skin peek out the door. Closer inspection revealed that her skin was actually made of tree bark. Eyes that sparkled gold in the midday sun peaked out at them from behind the door.

"May I help you?" the creature asked in a strong, pleasant voice that reminded Charlie of her grandmother. Charlie smiled brightly.

"Hi!" she chirped merrily. "My name's Charlie. I'm looking for a winged monkey named Reigna?"

Gold eyes roved over her suspiciously. The tree lady scoffed dismissively. "You've seen too many movies." she said in a voice like the rustle of leaves in wind. "No one here by that name. No flying monkeys either." Her eyes moved to Castiel. "What about you?"

Castiel shrugged noncommittally.

"I'm dying. I have no vested interest in finding Reigna. I'm merely accompanying Charlie in her mission." The tree woman huffed out a dry puff of surprised laughter.

"Well, you're honest at least," she said with dry amusement. She hesitated, looking between them both for another moment. "Why are you looking for this Reigna?" she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity. Charlie smiled her disarming Charlie smile.

"Long story short, her family misses her, and I need her help." Tree lady raised surprised eyebrows at that.

"Her family you say?"

Charlie nodded.

"That's right. Her mom's the one who sent me after her. But I'll be honest, I have other reasons for needing to talk to her. I promise, I mean her no harm." The tree lady seemed to hesitate, still just peeking out the door.

"Mmm. Well, you seem like nice, honest people, and I wish I could help, but like I said-"

"Selena?"

A tentative voice called from behind the woman at the door. She glanced behind her, towards the speaker.

"It's fine, sweet. Just some confused strangers. I'm sending them off now."

Charlie and Cas couldn't quite make out what happened next, but it appeared that 'Selena' and whoever was behind her were having an urgent, barely audible conversation. Eventually she turned to them, gave them one final assessing stare, and opened the door fully, stepping to the right.

As she did so, she revealed the warm, oak paneled hallway behind her. Including the small, 4 foot tall winged monkey standing behind her.

The monkey girl was not obviously female, but she was wearing a loose pink smock with yellow daisies patterned across it. She was holding the feather in her hand, twisting it anxiously. She stepped forward, looking between Charlie and Castiel with wide, innocent brown eyes.

"Hello," she said nervously. Her voice was painfully young, no different than that of a teenage girl. It made something soften in Castiel's otherwise impenetrable disinterest. It seemed to have a similar effect on Charlie, whose entire demeanor dialed back several notches, going from bright and bubbly to soft and sincere.

"Hey," Charlie said quietly. "Are you Reigna?" The monkey girl looked anxiously between Selena and Charlie.

"No one...no one here calls me that." she said at length. Charlie nodded.

"That's cool. Everyone close to me calls me Charlie, but I was born with another name. Sometimes its just easier that way," she said with a reassuring smile. Reigna smiled weakly back at her. "So what do they call you?"

"...Blossom." she said, and Cas could hear the blush in her voice even though the fur on her face covered it well.

"Nice to meet you Blossom," Charlie said quietly. She gestured behind her. "That's Castiel, but everyone calls him Cas. He's grumpy and creepy but his heart's in the right place." Blossom grinned at that description, even as Cas scowled. "Can we talk to you for a second Blossom?"

Blossom's eyes darted between them nervously. "About what?" she asked suspiciously. Selena placed her hand reassuringly on Blossom's shoulder. She looked up at her gratefully.

Charlie noted the interaction and smiled. "About your mom."

Blossom's eyes widened comically.

"My mom?" she whispered, voice filled with disbelief. Charlie nodded slowly.

"She's the one who gave me that feather you're holding." Blossom looked down at the feather in her hand, the one that perfectly matched the wings delicately folded behind her back. When she looked back up her eyes were brimming with tears and fragile, painful hope.

"You saw my mom?" she said in a watery voice. Charlie felt her heart clench, and tried her best to stay strong. She nodded firmly.

"I did. I'm here to find you and anyone else who got trapped here." Charlie saw the doubt, the fear, and the painful disbelief in Blossom's face. Charlie knew how to chase the doubt from her eyes. She reached behind her back, slowly, and pulled the key to Oz from her back pocket. She brought it in front of her and held it up where Blossom could see. Her eyes fastened on it with raw hunger. "I'm here to take you home."

The reaction was instantaneous. Blossom gasped out a sob and fell to her knees, weeping openly. Cas averted his eyes as she cried out all the bitter loneliness she had no doubt endured in this alien realm. Her pain was too raw, and too familiar. Unlike Blossom, Cas knew he would never find his way back home. As Charlie went forward to comfort Blossom and explain further in soft, hushed tones, Cas wondered if the home he was missing was his heavenly refuge or a pair of wounded green eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'm so freakin' bored!" Dean yelled at the ceiling. Sam looked up from the book Xander had lent him.

"Dude, calm down."

They had driven most of the day to reach the safe house, following Xander who drove alternatively like a little old lady and a crazed whackadoo, depending on how caffeinated he was, which changed every few hours as the sugary beverages he was consuming metabolized. Which, of course, meant that he had to stop at every...single...rest stop along the way. The first time they had stopped and gotten out, it was so Xander could hand off Willow's book to a contact. Of course, Dean had bitched long and loud about the interruption. After that Xander had led them on a merry chase from one grease soaked cluster of fast food restaurants to another. Needless to say, by the time they finally arrived at the safe house, Dean was one grumpy cat.

Xander had given them a brief tour of the house, and introduced them to Ingrid, who was eating a sandwich in the kitchen and texting on her phone. When she saw the brothers she did a double take and then surreptitiously took a picture of them. Dean had preened and Sam had rolled his eyes.

Xander had given them a rundown of the house rules – clean up after yourselves, don't disturb the other residents – given them the wifi password and shown them to their rooms. Then he had left to check on the other residents, leaving the brothers to their own devices. Dean had surfed Sam's computer, until he got bored, then watched tv, until he got bored, and not even attempted to read the books Xander had pointed Sam towards.

Now it seemed that his never abundant patience had reached its limit.

"Man, there's nothing to do here."

"Well, then, help me research," Sam suggested.

Dean made a scoffing sound. "You heard Xander. He doesn't think the thing that came after us is even in those books."

"It's still good to familiarize yourself with the lore. We need to learn the rules for this world."

"Andrew gave us the rundown."

"He gave us the bullet points because he thought we would be going about our normal lives, not hunting things." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He paced back and forth, paused, and then spun around decisively. "Alright, that's it. I'm going out."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Sam asked hesitantly, watching him throw on his jacket. Dean grabbed a stake and some holy water that Xander had given them earlier.

"Relax, man. I know what we're up against and I," he waggled the stake pointedly, "am prepared. I just need to get out of here for a bit, clear my head." Sam nodded slowly, recognizing the trapped animal look. He knew Dean could take care of himself as long as he knew what he was up against. And he could sympathize with his brothers need to unwind. Plus, it'd be way easier to concentrate without his nervous energy vibrating all over the room.

"Ok. Just, don't stay out too late." Dean flapped a hand at him nonchalantly.

"Yeah yeah. You worry too much little brother." Sam just frowned worriedly at him, giant eyebrows furrowing with concern.

In his room, Xander was finishing up a phone call with Andrew.

"I'm fine," Andrew was saying over the phone. "I'm gonna be staying at Watcher HQ in LA for the moment, till I figure out my next move. They don't think it's safe for me to return to New York just now. At least, not until we figure out what we're up against. The magic workers tell me that thing was weird. In a strange way."

"Weird in a strange way? What does that even mean?" Xander asked absentmindedly, flipping through a comic book as they talked.

"I don't know. They said it's old, and oddly...wrong. They can't really describe it any more clearly than that."

"Well that's...not helpful at all."

"Have those impostor brothers caused you any more trouble?" he asked seriously. Xander shrugged, then realized Andrew couldn't see it.

"Not really. They're mostly just cranky. I threw some books at the tall one and he seemed pretty docile. The short one was still a Mr. Sassy-Pants though."

"Don't be seduced by his hypnotic eyes, Xander! I know that you and your burgeoning sexuality are at a critical juncture but that only makes you more vulnerable too-"

"Got it! Thanks! I'll strap on my chastity belt." Xander said loudly, regretting once again telling Andrew about his decision to explore his gay-side.

"I'm just saying, be on your guard."

"Mmmhmm. Well, you take care now." With that, Xander hung up the phone, abruptly ending the uncomfortable phone call.

Xander rolled over and stretched. Andrew's call had awoken him from his nap. It was early-ish in the evening still. There were things he could be doing today. He had a small internet business for custom-designed woodworking pieces that he could be working on. There were a few long term research projects that Willow had thrown his way. Mostly busywork that didn't require him to leave the house. He stared up at the ceiling and did not want to do any of those things.

He blew a despondent raspberry and rolled out of the bed. He scratched his belly and wandered out into the kitchen. He opened the door and stared at the contents, unseeing. It occurred to him that he should probably get more groceries. And he should probably see if the handsome twins had any dietary restrictions.

He wandered upstairs and knocked on their door.

"Come in!"

Xander opened the door and peaked his head in.

"Hey there," he said, smiling. Sam smiled back from behind his laptop.

"Hey."

"You guys settling in ok?" he asked.

"Uhhhh...yeah," Sam said at length. "It's just...different. Is all." Xander came fully into the room.

"Our world you mean?"

Sam hesitated.

"Yeah, that, but also...just..." he sighed. "Dean and I, we're used to doing things on our own. Secretly. We're not used to having this many people in on the supernatural. It's just...strange, is all." Xander shrugged.

"I get that. And it didn't used to be this way. There used to be a _way_ more depressing bad guy to good guy ratio. Then, due to unforeseen and uncontrollable circumstances in which I myself was in no way involved, there was a sudden spike in superheros and cataclysmic events that wound up spreading the awareness. So, we're all still adjusting."

Sam assimilated that information.

"At least we're not alone, then," he said with a crooked grin. Xander smiled back at him.

"In this house? Never. Constant stream of people coming and going. Plus, I think Ingrid may have taken it into her head to stalk you and your brother." Sam laughed.

"Just keep her away from the love spells and we're good." They shared a moment of companionable silence, reflecting on past love spells gone wrong. It was comfortable. And then it went on slightly too long and got awkward.

"So...did you need anything?" Sam asked politely.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry. Part of my job around here is making sure we got a fully stocked kitchen, so if you guys could let me know your preferences I'll make a note for the next time I make a food run. Also, if you need us to spot you some cash while you're in this world, still getting on your feet and all, I can set you up with our standard survivor stipend."

"Huh. You've really streamlined the process haven't you?" Xander shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know if that's comforting, because you're so on top of everything, or depressing, because you get that many victims on a consistent basis." Xander smiled mysteriously and stared into the air in front of him.

"Sometimes I wonder..."

After a few moments Xander came back to himself.

"You can just get me a list whenever it's convenient. You and Dean..." he looked around for the first time and paused, "...where is Dean?"

"Oh, he was getting a little stir crazy so he headed out." Xander blinked.

"After what happened? Are you guys sure that's safe?" he asked uncertainly. Sam sighed.

"No, but he's got his cell phone, and a weapon. He can take care of himself," he said, flipping through his laptop distractedly. "Plus he knows not to wander too far off the reservation. He'll probably just grab a drink at the closest dive bar he can find." Xander stared at Sam's bowed head as his heart suddenly jolted.

"Dive bar?" he repeated quietly. Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Anyplace with cheap alcohol, bacon cheeseburgers, and a pool table. It's how he unwinds." Sam snorted. "Well, that and killing things."

Xander blinked again as his mind slowly calculated the odds of Dean finding a bar that wasn't _his_ bar, in the immediate area, and that he wouldn't somehow, in some as of yet unforeseen way, completely mess things up in such a fashion that it precipitated not only the end of Xander's secret source of sanity, but incite yet another apocalypse. Xander ran the numbers. He did not like those odds.

"Right, yes, good. That's good. To get all...un...wound. Winding is bad. Being wound. And such." Sam was staring at him now. Xander cleared his throat. "Listen, you, work on that list," he dug in his pocket and pulled out a couple of crumpled twenties. He smacked them down on the table in front of Sam. "You, do whatever you want for food, on me, we'll get you squared away later. Get me a list, and whatnot. I have to go do something."

"You okay?" Sam asked, his big brown cow eyes filled with perplexed concern.

"HA HA!" Xander barked out. And then, slightly more convincingly, "I mean no, yes, everything's fine. I'll be back soon." Having made his feeble excuse, Xander scurried suspiciously out the door. Sam stared after him for a minute but then shrugged it off and returned to his internetting.

Xander hurried down the stairs, absentmindedly grabbing his keys and wallet as he headed towards the door. His mind was humming with white noise, so much so that he forgot to grab his phone before leaving. The sunset was just setting as Xander fled down the front steps, casting a friendly orange glow over the street as he walked.

Xander wasn't even sure what to think, if he could think. He knew it was possible that Dean wasn't even AT the bar. It was possible that...certain people weren't even working at the bar tonight. And even if certain people were at the bar, it didn't mean that they would talk to each other. And even if they did...that didn't mean that something would go horribly wrong and destroy the happiness Spike had managed to find and everything that happiness meant to Xander.

As Xander pondered these thoughts his steps slowed to a reasonable pace. He looked around at the peaceful neighborhood in the dusky evening light. There were people jogging, couples walking dogs, teenagers walking and texting. He began to feel a bit sheepish for panicking. He paused on a street corner and looked up at the sky. It was getting dark. Aside from the blessed knife still strapped to his leg, he was pretty much weaponless. Granted, this was the nice part of town away from the graveyards, but being lightly armed and out after sunset was not a risk he was comfortable taking. He turned around, looking back the way he came. He thought about just going home. It would be the sane response to what was probably an imagined threat.

A second later, Xander turned back around and started walking towards the bar.


	18. Chapter 18

"Hmmm..." Charlie 'hmmed' under her breath as she stared at the screen in front of her. She was sitting on top of a carefully made bed in the small guest room of the house where Reigna and Selena lived. After Reigna had calmed down, Selena had begrudgingly allowed Charlie and Cas to explain themselves. At the conclusion of their story Selena had sized them up and invited them to stay the night. After they had settled in, Selena invited them to supper, where they learned that Reigna was not the only stray adolescent nonhuman who had wandered into the sanctuary that was this town and found shelter with Selena's limitless compassion.

It was a strangely homey meal, filled with all the bustle and activity of a big family Sunday dinner. Charlie and Castiel had sat at a long table with all the other occupants of the house. They were a strange looking bunch; all different colors and shapes, and one girl kept who blowing fire out her mouth when she got too excited.

There was also another winged monkey; a male about Reigna's age. He eyed Cas and Charlie with open distrust across the dinner table.

"That's quite a tale," he had remarked sarcastically once Charlie had finished repeating it for their rapt audience. "But why should we believe you? Aside from that key, you haven't got a shred of proof to back up your story. How do we know you aren't working for the wicked witch? Maybe you're trying to trick us into going back with you so you can enslave us again. For all we know, our parents are dead!" he said viciously, glaring at Charlie as though trying to wrest the truth from her with sheer willpower.

"Simon!" Selena had scolded. When he looked at her, she gestured with her head to where Reigna was staring intensely down at her plate, tension radiating from her small form. Simon's face fell, and he placed a hand gently on Reigna's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up if this turns out to be a scam." Reigna sniffed.

"I don't think it's a scam. She had my feather. She had the key." She looked to him eagerly. "She knew my name." Simon seemed lost, staring into those eyes that wanted so much to believe. He swallowed hard.

"You don't have to decide right now," Charlie had interjected. Simon had turned back to her, still suspicious but less hostile. "We're staying the night. And I'll be here until I find the...the thing that brought you here."

Simon's lip curled with barely contained disgust.

"You mean the cap."

Reigna shivered, and silence descended upon the room. Charlie swallowed nervously, glancing around the table at the scared and curious glances of the other adolescents.

"Yes. That's the other reason I'm here. To find the cap and destroy it."

"Or find it and enslave us you mean!" he spat angrily. Charlie flinched back from the vitriol in his voice. Castiel felt his protective instincts rise but forced them back. He could recognize anger born of fear.

Charlie looked straight into Simon's eyes.

"I would never. You have my word." They stared at each other, and it was Simon who broke eye contact first.

"Psht. Gonna need more than that before I'm willing to wander into another world on your say so," he muttered sullenly.

"But Simon, you have to come back with us!" Reigna said earnestly. He looked at her, and all the stubborn bravado melted out of his posture. Castiel recognized the monkeys' dynamic for what it was. Simon was whipped, and Reigna wasn't even trying. This he could work with.

"Reigna," Castiel said, leaning forward and staring intently at Reigna while completely ignoring Simon, "If you choose not to trust us, we understand. And if you choose not to help us, we understand. You've been used and betrayed," he paused for dramatic effect, "but with or without your help, we will be leaving tomorrow to search for the cap. And we will be taking the key with us." Reigna's eyes widened, tinged with panic.

Charlie glared at Cas in irritation, getting ready to smack him in the face.

Reigna turned to Simon. "Oh please!" she begged desperately, grabbing onto his arm. "Simon, I want to go home!" Cas hid his smile at the very moment Simon's resolve crumbled into a thousand tiny little itty bitty pieces.

Simon sighed resignedly.

"Look," he directed to Charlie, "I don't know where the Cap is now. But I can tell you the name of the man who summoned us."

Charlie leaned forward eagerly.

"Listening."

Simon hesitated, but quickly made his decision.

"Andrew Wells."

That name was the reason Charlie was currently 'hmmming' at her computer screen.

"Have you managed to figure out where the cap is yet?" Cas asked impatiently. He was seated in a worn arm chair next to the window, staring out into the yard behind the house where some of the children were playing shadow tag in the lengthening twilight.

"Mmm...I'm not sure. I was looking up this Andrew Wells guy, and I sort of got side tracked." Cas let out a noise of irritation.

"Side tracked? Charlie, we only have a limited amount of time in which I will be of any use to you. If you truly need my help it would be best to act with as much haste as possible."

"Yeah yeah I know," she said distractedly. "But see, here's the thing, I started searching for him, specifically where he was a few years ago when he first used a cap. Apparently, he was in a town in California called Sunnydale, which raises SO many supernatural red flags you'd think there was an open devil's gate there. Even Sam and Dean probably would've steered clear of this place."

Cas contained a snort. He was of the opinion that Dean, especially the Dean of late, would've loved the challenge and been drawn to that place like a moth to a flame.

"So, is that where the cap is? This...Sunnydale?" Charlie did not contain a snort.

"I hope not. Place is gone. Sank underground. Nothing but a hole in the desert now. If the cap was there when it fell, we're gonna have a bitch of a time getting it."

Cas thought for a minute.

"Was Wells there when it happened? Is he still alive?"

"Mmm...I believe so. His name's come up a few times in connection to some big disasters that occurred after the town disappeared, and he's on the board of a nonprofit organization called Summer Joys. I managed to pin down a couple addresses for him – Los Angeles, New York, et cetera. It's a start, I guess, but there's no telling if he's actually at any of these addresses. Looks like we might have to do a bit of legwork on this one."

Castiel sighed. "How far is the wreckage of Sunnydale from here?" he asked warily. Charlie clickety-clacked into her keyboard for a moment.

"Oh. Hah! Not far at all. A couple of hours by car. Probably more by walking. Which brings up a significant point. We're gonna have to buy a car or bum a ride. And right now we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Selena may have some idea as to how we can get some transportation," Castiel pondered. "We should ask her about it."

"Sounds good," Charlie replied absentmindedly. Castiel watched the children running around, shrieking and laughing for the sheer joy of being children. He looked up at the darkening sky and wondered if there was a heaven in this universe.


	19. Chapter 19

**WARNING** : There's some vaguely graphic male/male sex in this chapter.

Other Author notes - 1.) I'm trying to write this in an intentionally overdramatic, somewhat corny style, which I think most of you picked up on. 2.) I promise never to throw in a graphic rape/torture scene. I don't do that. 3.) I'm trying to get at least one chapter out each month. That is all.

Xander entered the bar and looked around. At first glance he didn't see Dean or Spike. He allowed himself to relax slightly, only to convulse with unremitting terror as the bar's patrons moved aside with accidental drama to reveal the two men in question situated across the room from each other. Spike didn't notice him, but Dean glanced up from the pool table where he was obviously hustling some good natured rubes and grimaced.

Xander walked up to the bar and ordered a beer, making sure to stay at the end of the bar where Spike was not, and then sauntered nonchalantly up towards where Dean was running the table with unapologetic enthusiasm. Xander watched him for a while, also watching the mark, who seemed disgruntled but more embarrassed than ornery. Xander waited until he'd been sent on his unhappy way before approaching the table.

"Hey," Dean said disinterestedly, counting the money he received from the guy he had just fleeced.

"Hey," Xander returned, in his best parody of butch manly man. He thought it was passable.

"Sam send you to check up on me?" Dean asked without looking up. Xander blinked in surprise.

"No. He said you could take care of yourself. I just..." Xander trailed off, remembering that he didn't really have an excuse for being here.

Dean stared at him for a minute, then bugged out his eyes and waggled his head around in the patented "well?" gesture that he had perfected.

"I just...this is my bar," Xander finished lamely. Dean snorted, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever." He turned to re-rack. Xander watched his broad muscular back appreciatively for a moment.

"You know, not everyone around here will be as polite about being hustled as that guy you just beat," Xander said conversationally. Dean gave him a look that communicated how much he supremely did not care.

"You play?" Dean asked gruffly. Xander shoved his hands in his pockets and gave his best "Aw shucks" face.

"I understand the basic concept. Hit the balls with the stick. Knock 'em against each other so they make that cool clicky sound." He turned away to grab a cue, hiding a smile at Dean's disgusted look.

"Well great. And while we play, maybe you can fill me in on how things work in this world."

Moments later, Xander was leaning against his pool queue and watching Dean dominate the table with ease.

"One day," he thought to himself, "I'm going to play pool with someone who won't kick my ass. What a day that will be."

"So I've got a question," Dean said, breaking the more or less comfortable silence. "Based on what Andrew said, and what I've seen, in this universe, most hunters have superpowers?" Xander blinked, momentarily distracted by Dean's impeccable form as he leaned in for a shot. He shook it off after a moment.

"Well, mostly. Of course, lots of un-super people get dragged into this crap involuntarily. That was how it was for me and Willow."

Dean paused and looked at Xander.

"Willow...the witch?" he asked with obvious distaste.

"Willow the best friend who, in addition to being an amazing person, happens to now be an uber-powerful witch, yes," Xander replied with equally obvious protectiveness. Dean held up his hands placatingly.

"Whoa, relax dude, just asking. Don't know the rules here, but in my world, most witches sell their soul to demons for power. And," he added, lining up another shot, "they tend to be creepily unhygienic."

"Well Willow's very hygienic. Deodorant and everything," he joked, mostly mollified. "And getting back to your original question, a lot of normal people fight the supernatural, myself included. It's just that lots of them don't last very long." Xander paused, thinking about it. "Or they don't stay normal."

That caused Dean to miss his shot, and he turned to stare wide-eyed at Xander.

"What the Hell does that mean?"

Xander shrugged and stepped up to take his turn. "Stuff happens, in this line of work. Willow wasn't always a witch. Not too long ago all the slayers were just normal girls with weird dreams. Oh, and there was this one guy," Xander paused, shot, missed, and stepped back.

"His name was Sid. I met him in high school. He was like you, just a normal guy who hunted demons. And then he got cursed by the demons he was hunting." Xander paused to sip at his beer, affecting an air of casual disinterest.

Dean waved his arm in a 'go on' gesture. "And? What happened to him?" Xander waited until Dean was attempting to shoot before he answered.

"He got turned into a wooden dummy and then died."

"Score!" Xander thought smugly as Dean's shot went wide and accidentally knocked the eight ball in. Dean stared at him, part shock, part disbelief, part grudging respect for his underhanded tactics.

It was a complicated look.

"You're messing with me."

Xander smiled.

"Welcome to our Universe." Dean gave a surprised bark of laughter and shook his head.

"Well, I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore." Xander began to rerack the balls.

"My condolences, Dorothy."

"Call me Dorothy again. See what happens."

This time Xander laughed.

"Would Toto be more acceptable?"

"Only if you find it acceptable to get your ass kicked."

"You know, after all this time, I'm strangely comfortable with it." Xander broke, knocking in a solid, and prowled around the table contemplating his next move. "And anyway, it's not always like that. That you get caught up in the fight and suddenly get superpowers or become part demon." Xander took his shot and missed. "In a surprising amount of cases, it works the other way around."

Dean stepped up to the table, accidentally brushing against Xander. He noted idly that Xander smelled good up close.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked quickly.

"Just that on a surprising number of occasions, nonhuman things can become human. Be they glowy mystical keys, vengeance demons, or...vampires." Xander couldn't help glancing towards the bar as he uttered the last. Spike was standing there, smiling easily with the customers. He looked too beautiful to be real. Xander felt his breath catch in his throat at the sudden, unexpected ache in his chest. Dean scoffed.

"Well at least that's the same. Vamps in our world could become human if you got to them in time. Other creatures, not so much."

"Oh yeah?" Xander said, eager for the distraction. "Here it's actually pretty rare. Gotta have an ancient prophecy, mythic trials, the whole nine yards." Dean knocked his balls with more force than necessary.

"Don't get me started on prophesies." he gritted out angrily. Xander laughed.

"Yeah, not terribly fond of them myself."

Dean looked up at him with a wry, rakish grin that set Xander's pulse to racing. He cleared his throat.

"So you've been fighting monsters for a long time, huh?"

Dean gave him an assessing look. Eventually he determined that the question was harmless and shrugged. "All my life. Me and Sammy have hunted things that would make your worst nightmare turn tail and run," he said matter-of-factly, knocking more balls in. Xander rolled his eyes.

"Ok, that statement may be true for most people, but I grew up on a Hellmouth. Trust me when I say that my nightmares could give your nightmares a run for their money."

"Hellmouth?" Dean asked, pausing to swallow another mouthful of beer. Xander unconsciously watched his throat muscles moving.

"Yeah..." he drawled distractedly. "It's what it sounds like. Mouth of hell. Basically a dimensional portal that's closed most of the time but works like a magnet for supernatural mayhem."

Dean nodded with understanding.

"Like a Devil's Gate. I follow you. You grew up on one?"

Xander shrugged.

"Went to high school on top of one, technically. But it had a town-wide influence."

"Huh. So I guess that's how you got into hunting."

Xander was silent for a few moments, not sure about how to answer that. He leaned in for a shot, heedless of how Dean's eyes fixed on him as he bent over the table.

"Sort of yes, and sort of no. Even though I was living on a Hellmouth, I managed to pretend everything was normal until high school. I used to say that Buffy was the reason everything changed. But in my advanced age I realize that even if she hadn't shown up when she did, I could never have ignored the truth after that night."

Xander paused, staring into the distance in front of him. Dean watched him. The cool expression on his face melted a bit as he watched Xander remember whatever horrible bloody tragedy had likely pulled him from his rightful place in safe/happy denial land. He'd seen that look on many a hunter's face. Even though Dean knew the score, he hadn't thought he'd see that look in Xander's eyes. The guy was just too...chipper.

"Who's Buffy?" Dean asked loudly by way of a subject change. Xander blinked, seemingly coming back to himself. He grinned at Dean, suddenly all smiles and good humor.

"She's the slayer." Dean frowned in confusion.

"I thought you guys had a bunch of those."

Xander's grin just widened smugly.

"Not A slayer. The slayer. The one girl in all the world."

Dean looked up at him with a knowing grin from where he was angling his shot.

"Ah...now I see."

"Oh my friend," Xander said with excessive drama, coming around to rest a hand on Dean's broad, muscly back, "you do not know the half of it."

And so Xander related the tale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, from the perspective of her Sancho Panza-esque friend Xander, who's role in certain events may have been emphasized more in his retelling than it would have been had her story been miraculously made into a TV or comic book series. Dean responded with hunting tales of his own, which even Xander found erred on the side of incredulous. Mostly the bit about the wishing well.

"Although don't get me wrong. I never would have met the great love of my life had it not been for someone not being careful what they wished for. Of course that also might have resulted in bringing a nightmarish reality into existence," Xander pondered.

Dean laughed and slapped him heartily on the back, letting his hand linger.

"I gotta say, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about most of the time. But damned if you aren't the most hilarious guy I've ever met."

Xander tried to ignore the warmth creeping into his skin from Dean's resting hand. He turned his head and couldn't help sucking in a surprised breath. Dean's face, with it's soulful green eyes and rakish grin, was suddenly inches from his own. Dean's smile was easy and innocent enough, but it set Xander's nerves pleasantly on edge.

Before Dean could notice his reaction, he deadpanned,"You are literally the first person to ever say that to me."

Dean burst out a surprised guffaw of laughter and slid away, his hand slowly dragging a fiery trail across Xander's back. Without the burning hot support of Dean's solid frame next to him, Xander realized several things all at once: 1.) he'd maybe had more beer than he should have, 2.) Dean was crazy freakin' pretty-sexy, and 3.) he really needed to pee. See item 1.

"So, yeah," he said quickly, putting his cue back and entirely missing Dean's calculating appraisal of his nervous, rabbity behavior, "I gotta hit the head. I'll be back."

"Pssht. What're you, British?" Dean asked teasingly. Xander paused momentarily in his quickmarch to the bathroom, just the span of a heartbeat, but he couldn't keep his eyes from flicking towards the bar where Spike was still standing, looking beautiful and happy. He quickly shook it off and ran to the bathroom. Dean watched him scurry and laughed, not noticing where his gaze had been drawn.

In the bathroom, Xander finished his business and leaned against the sink. It was a simple but clean single stall bathroom, for which he was grateful. Xander stared into his reflection and his reflection stared back. If he were to imagine that his mirror-self had a voice, that voice would be asking what he was doing here, and why he was actively lusting after a man he knew nothing about and may in fact be dangerous. However, Xander was a little drunk and didn't quite know how to articulate all that so his reflection remained voiceless. Some of it's points did filter through Xander's brain, however, and he felt he still needed to ask himself:

"What am I doing here?"

The simple answer was to protect Spike. However, he'd been there about an hour and a half and in all that time, Dean's only social interactions had been with possible marks and the waitress in his search for more beers. He seemed to be as straight as straight could be. Spike, similarly, had been waaay too busy behind the bar to spend more than a few moments socializing with anyone. So, really, the situation was perfectly safe. Still...

Xander sighed. Truth was, he was still here because he was having fun. Dean was a mix of sarcastic, rude, and pretty that Xander found oddly familiar and compelling. Plus it had been a long time since he'd just been able to hang out with a guy. The slayers were fine and all, but they were part of a group he could never join, and sometimes it was hard to break through that invisible barrier. But Dean, he was just another guy who was doing the best that he could with what he had. And while he was kind of a huge dick, he was also a very pretty dick. Snicker. Dick.

Xander looked at his snickering reflection in the mirror. "Get a hold of yourself, man," he whispered. He stared harder at his own reflection. He looked okay for a guy his age, he thought. Tan, some laugh lines. Could be worse. He reached up to ruffle his hair and noticed something weird. His reflection in the mirror was...darker, than himself. Xander squinted into the glass, and something in the depths of the image twitched. Suddenly, like a magic eye picture clicking into 3D, Xander could make out a shadowy silhouette superimposed over his own reflection. Xander stared at it intently, nearly going cross-eyed trying to make out more distinct features. A crazy paranoid part of his mind hoped that this wasn't Bloody Mary and/or Slenderman. He thought he could make out a set of eyes superimposed over his own – creepy, greenish, calculating eyes – but he got distracted by the actual reflection of the bathroom door opening and closing behind him. He turned around, the mystery of the bathroom mirror temporarily forgotten.

Dean had closed the door behind him and flipped the lock. He grinned cockily at Xander who was leaning back against the sink. Xander swallowed hard.

"I could've sworn I'd locked that door," Xander thought vaguely.

Dean continued to smile smugly and strode purposefully towards him, head down and eyes intent. Those deep, deep, impossibly deep penetrating eyes pinned Xander to the sink like a butterfly to the cork board of a mad lepidopterist.

Xander had only a minute to wonder if this was a good idea before Dean was on him. Dean's mouth descended on his and his thigh pushed insistently up into Xander's crotch, forcing him back against the white porcelain.

Xander couldn't breathe; couldn't think. His alcohol-numbed mind was overwhelmed by the sensation of warm, firm maleness over him, pushing against him. He heard himself moan as Dean's agile tongue plundered his mouth. His ass was pushed up onto the cold sink as Dean pressed firmly against him, forcing Xander up and back with lightning sparks of frictious pleasure. He couldn't help himself as his fingers tightened in the soft cotton of Dean's shirt. He felt strong, warm hands slithering under his clothes like firebrands against his skin. One of those hand snaked down his abdomen, wending a scorching trail downwards. Xander groaned and bucked up against the other man as Dean teasingly dipped his thumb inside the top of Xander's jeans and slid a mocking pass over the base of Xander's cock.

Luckily, Dean wasn't in the mood for excessive foreplay and the taunting lasted only a minute before he was roughly ripping open Xander's fly. When Dean's hand was wrapped firmly and none-too-gently around Xander's manhood, Xander reared back his head and gasped in shock at the sudden, exquisite pressure. Dean merely pressed his advantage by snapping forward with the deadly intent of a cobra to latch onto the base of Xander's neck with blunt teeth. He teased the sensitive skin of Xander's throat with this teeth and tongue while stroking him with a practiced ease that had Xander clutching him helplessly and gasping for breath.

Some distant part of Xander's mind, far above the all-encompassing pleasure he was experiencing, recognized that perhaps he should be doing something to return the favor. This same oddly lucid part of him subsequently made note of the fact that Dean was not being shy about rubbing his own half-clothed member (when did that happen?) against Xander's taught thigh. Then the lucid part of Xander's mind, satisfied by the general fairness of the proceedings, surrendered to the rhythmic pleasure Dean was eliciting.

They writhed against each other, the rhythm increasing until the paper towel dispenser was shaking with the ferocity of their passion. Xander couldn't suppress a low groan as he felt the delicious pressure pushing him higher and higher towards ecstasy. The only sound Xander could hear was the harsh panting of their breath and the pounding of his heart. Thud Thud Thud.

THUD!

"No Xander," Lucid Brain sighed exasperatedly. "That's someone at the bathroom door."

Just then, an inarticulate shout came through the bathroom door. Xander froze. Dean must have noticed something too because his movements slowed without stopping and he glanced over his shoulder at the door.

"Oi! You alright in there?" A sexy British voice called through the door.

Dean was about to answer back when Xander clutched onto him and thrust up violently, suddenly stiffening in an uncontrollable release of pleasure. Feeling Xander lunge against him so suddenly and unexpectedly caused him to lose control. Dean buried his head in Xander's shoulder and thrust mindlessly against him as he came.

When he was able to form coherent words again, Dean turned back to the door where someone was still knocking and yelled out hoarsely, "It's alright! Just drank too much, that's all."

The voice on the other side of the door laughed, clearly disbelieving, and seemed to go away. Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Xander. He smiled at the glassy-eyed, utterly disheveled picture Xander made. He was about to say something snarky and sarcastic when all at once Xander seemed to come back to himself, and not in a pleasant way. Xander stared at the door, and something like horror and anguish came over his face. Whatever it was, it was not post-coital bliss.

"Xander," Dean said quietly. Xander didn't respond, and the look on his face didn't change. Dean frowned, and shook him gently.

"Hey, Xander," he said more loudly. That got his attention, and he blankly turned that horrible expression on Dean. "You okay?"

Xander blinked and shook himself. He tried a wan smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he murmured. He shook himself again and this time his smile was more geunuine. "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine. That was, um, great. Unexpected, but , yeah, great," he said awkwardly. Dean laughed.

"Unexpected my ass. Which, you were totally staring at all night," he said teasingly, sliding away from Xander. Xander offered a goofy grin.

"You got no proof." He pushed away from the sink and straightened his clothes, hiding the mess as best he could. He grimaced. "I think I've had enough for the night. I'm gonna head back."

Dean adjusted himself, cleaning off somewhat with paper towels. "Alright. I'm still a kinda wired so I'm gonna stay out for a bit. Now that you've seen I'm safe and not raising any kind of hell," he added with a wry grin in Xander's direction.

Xander paused. He supposed those two possibilities probably should have passed through his mind earlier. But he'd honestly been too freaked about the Spike situation to consider any other angle. And now that he realized his being there would just make it more likely that Dean's attention would be drawn to Spike, Xander figured he'd better just go. Outwardly he shrugged.

"Can never be to careful," he said glibly. "See you later." With that, Xander quickly left through the bathroom door. He very purposefully kept his head down until he was outside, not wanting to accidentally see Spike; not after having come at the sound of his voice.


	20. Chapter 20

"Huh," Charlie 'huhed' looking around at the gaping pit that was once Sunnydale. "This is...a large...sandy hole."

After a restful night of sleep, Charlie and Cas had broached the question of transportation over breakfast. Selena had just smiled and looked to Simon. Apparently, Simon had a knack for mechanics and restored junk cars in his spare time. Simon had promised them the keys to a car once they were safely in Oz. Charlie and Cas had been forced to wait around most of the morning while Reigna and Simon had said heartfelt goodbyes and gathered up their things. They mostly just stayed out of the way, not having spent enough time with anyone to have developed a bond. Eventually, Simon and Reigna were ready.

Armed with pilfered junkfood and luggage, Charlie, Cas, and the wayward winged monkeys piled into the nondescript sedan and rode off into the horizon. Reigna and Simon had chittered quietly to each other in the back seat in their native language. Charlie turned the radio to the only music station coming in clearly and hummed quietly along. Cas had stared silently out the window, his adorably squinty eyes squinting adorably in the sunlight. With the aid of Charlie's conveniently compatible technology providing GPS directions, by noon they had reached the scorched desert sinkhole that was once the battleground for the universe.

"What did you expect, Charlie?" Cas asked scornfully. She shrugged.

"I don't know. Something...more substantial. Cooler. I felt like there'd be...I don't know. A vibe."

Cas rolled his eyes and turned to Simon.  
"Is it here?" Simon closed his eyes. He had insisted that Reigna wait by the car, afraid that the sandy tomb may yet hold some unforeseen dangers. She had smiled indulgently and graciously allowed him to go on alone. Simon now breathed deeply, stretching his preternatural awareness to its outermost reaches. After several quiet moments he opened his eyes and shook his head.

"No."

Charlie let out a frustrated groan./p

"You're sure?"

Simon nodded.

"I would be able to feel if it were. It...pricks at us," he said with a disgusted grimace. Charlie sighed.

"Well, the good news is I guess I don't have to go digging around here. Literally. Bad news is now I gotta track down that Wells guy and, assuming he's alive, hope he knows something. And convince him to tell me."

Cas privately thought that he likely wouldn't be able to see Charlie through to the end of the journey. Just standing there with the heat of the desert sun beating down on his human form was making him sway on unsteadily his feet.

Simon huffed impatiently. "That has nothing to do with me. I did my part. Now it's time for you to do yours. Send me and Reigna home!" His demand was tinged with desperation.

Cas looked at Charlie, who had her hand in her pocket, presumably fingering the key to Oz. He stepped close to Charlie and leaned in next to her ear.

"He and Reigna can sense the Cap. You stand a greater chance of finding it if you keep them with you." Charlie pulled back her head and stared at Cas in shock. He looked back at her complacently. "Ultimately it's your decision, but once again, my time with you is limited." Charlie's expression melted from shocked and angry disbelief to inner conflict. Cas felt a twinge of guilt for being the cause of that turmoil, essentially asking her to weigh her own goals against the promise she had made. He truly wasn't an angel anymore.

"HEY! Who the mother fucking hell do you mother fucking sons of bitches think you are and what the goddamned mother fucking hell do you think you're goddamned well doing here?!"

Cas, Simon, and Charlie turned towards the source of the angry expletives that was coming towards them in a cloud of kicked up dust. Shit-kicker boots crunched their angry way across the baked sand as a tiny asian woman with a wicked looking samurai sword and waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay to much leather for this environment glared at the three of them simultaneously. A truly impressive feat for a two-eyed individual. She stopped several feet from them, still eyeing them fiercely.

Cas spun away from Charlie and placed himself between her and the newcomer, although he knew in his present condition he might very well be the one needing protecting. He needn't have worried. All the stranger's attention was focused on Charlie.

"Girl! I thought you went home. What the hell are you even doing here?" she asked with irritation. Charlie blinked, opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Luckily, the impractically dressed female didn't seem to mind. "Shit, and here I thought I was gonna have to beat down some morbid-ass intruders. They recall you? Tsk. Typical! Watcher HQ bullshit can't find it's own ass with a flashlight and a tracking spell. Who the fuck are these assholes?" she asked gesturing imperiously at Simon and Cas.

"This is Cas and Simon. They're friends," she said with wavering confidence. The other woman seemed not to notice. She scoffed again.

"Taking them to see the famous site of destruction and devastation? We're not a goddamn tourist attraction! Although that would certainly rake in the dough. At least with the supernatural set. Fuck it's hot! Leather may be sexy and tactically advantageous but it does. Not. Breathe! If you're done showing your buddies around, what say we go inside? There's a freezey pop with my name on it." With that, she turned and abruptly started walking towards one edge of the sinkhole, opposite where Charlie and Cas had parked the car. Charlie exchanged a brief, puzzled look with the others before quickly following after her. Cas and Simon reluctantly followed suit.

After several minutes of walking they climbed up the edge of the sinkhole and arrived at an unassuming trailer overlooking the pit. The woman, still nameless, kicked the door unceremoniously open, revealing a makeshift office of sorts. She bi-passed a desk heaped with papers and an ancient looking book to grab several freezey pops from a mini-fridge humming away in the corner. She tossed them at each of the assembled humanoids.

She ripped hers open with her teeth and leaned against the desk, causing a precariously balanced pile of papers to teeter worryingly. She regarded them all once again.

"Who the fuck are all of you?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, I know Vi, obviously, but who the fuck are the rest of you assholes?" After a second's hesitation, Charlie decided to just roll with it.

"This is Castiel, and this is Simon," she said stiltedly, gesturing to each in turn. Cas nodded shortly. Simon was ignoring the proceedings in favor of trying fruitlessly to defeat the plastic separating him from his icy treat.

The woman tilted her head and scrutinized Castiel.

"Can see he's not human," she gestured with her chin toward the disinterested Simon, "but what the fuck are you?"

"What makes you think I'm not human?" Castiel asked, just the barest hint of curiosity underscoring his otherwise neutral tone. The woman let loose a bark of rough laughter.

"Experience!"

Cas nodded at that.

"You are correct. I am not human. I would rather not discuss it. It should be sufficient that I pose no harm to you, and that Vi," he said, looking towards Charlie, "vouches for me." The woman seemed to consider this before shrugging.

"Ah hell, what the fuck. I ain't exactly human myself, by my calculations," she said, finishing her pop. "Shit, I hate this assignment. Spending hours a day watching a giant hole in the ground, chasing off occult wannabes and UFO nuts on the slight chance some crazy shit might go down unexpectedly. Fucking boring bullshit! That's what it is. Can't wait to switch out."

"Hey, uh, thanks' for the popsicle," Charlie said, gesturing at her still unopened desert. "We were pretty much finished looking around. I just wanted to know...do you happen to know where Andrew Wells is currently?"

The woman's eyes widened fractionally.

"You mean you haven't heard?"

Charlie exchanged a look with Cas, which was not lost on the Slayer.

"Heard what?" Charlie asked eagerly.

The slayer frowned at Cas and Simon, both of whom were paying attention now.

"You sure you want to discuss this now?" she asked, making her reservations painfully obvious. Charley nodded decisively.

"These two can be trusted." The slayer seemed to measure them for an additional second before shrugging it off.

"The word from on high is that he got attacked by this weird shadow monster thing."

"Shadow monster?" Castiel echoed. She nodded.

"Yeah. Like nothing we've never seen before. Old, powerful, but with a crippling light allergy. By a weird stroke of luck Xander was there and he managed to call up the reinforcements before things got really hairy. Don't worry," she added, seeing Charlie's disturbed expression. "He's gonna be okay. He's recuperating in the secure ward of LA Watcher HQ." She looked at Charlie thoughtfully.

"Hey, if you got time, you should go visit him, Vi. I know he'd love to see you." Charlie blinked, and then smiled slowly.

"You know what? Yeah. I think I'll do that." 


	21. Chapter 21

Dean watched Xander scurry out of the bathroom with his head down. He got the sense that there was something else going on with him but Dean knew they weren't close enough to talk about it yet. Despite how close they had just been. Dean smirked, thinking of the sex. And then grimaced, thinking of Xander's reaction. He preferred that his partners not hate themselves afterwards. Especially Xander, who was pretty much the only friend he had made in this world.

He left the bathroom and after considering the pool tables for a minute, headed over to the bar for another drink. It was getting towards the part of the evening where he would usually pick a fight with some nasty creepity or find someone to go home with. After that tussle with Xander in the bathroom, he felt he could go either way. He was eyeing one of the waitresses, who was eyeing him right back, when he heard something crash at the back of the room.

In the back of the room a girl with messy chestnut hair had stumbled into a table knocking drinks and silverware to the floor. She was obviously plastered. The guy attached to her was laughing at her sloppiness and caught her as she fell backwards into his arms. She grabbed his head and gracelessly sucked on his tongue. He seemed into it. Dean shook his head disparagingly.

"Classy, ain't it?"

Dean looked back across the bar. The sexy bleach blond punk was washing out a glass and looking at the couple behind him. He seemed familiar for some reason.

"Not the word I'd use but uh...to each their own," Dean said with a shrug. Spike nodded.

"Speaking of classy, thanks for leaving the bathroom mostly intact," Spike added with a little smirk. Dean laughed.

"Yeah, sorry about that pal. Heat of the moment, you know?" Spike smiled.

"Sure, sure. Your friend left pretty quick, didn't he?" Dean frowned and then sighed.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, staring into his drink. Spike eyed him for a moment, noting that he was pretty when he brooded.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked. The bar was beginning to empty at this time of night, and the guy seemed interesting. "I am a classically trained bartender, after all. I light cigarettes and offer sage advice free of charge."

Dean snorted.

"Thanks, but no," he said, taking a swing of his drink. He sat in silence for a moment as Spike tended to the other patrons of the bar. When Spike passed by in front of him, Dean suddenly blurted out,

"I may have fucked up." Spike finished up what he was doing and then wandered back towards Dean. He poured him another drink.

"How so?"

"That guy I was with?" Dean asked, waiting for acknowledgment. Spike nodded, indicating that he knew who Dean was referring to. Spike was careful not to communicate the fact that he was desperate for any gossip related to the mysterious one-eyed regular.

"Well, I'm knew in town, and that was the only guy who's been even halfway decent to me. I think I just messed it all up." Spike shrugged noncommittally.

"Yeah, sex will do that," he deadpanned. Dean glared.

"Thanks. That's helpful," he said sarcastically. Spike rolled his eyes.

"Did you force him?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed with disgust.

"Did he enjoy it?"

Dean paused thoughtfully, replaying the events in his mind.

"He seemed to, up until he ran out." Spike shrugged.

"So talk it out or pretend it never happened. Either way, shouldn't be too hard to get over." Dean stared at him in disbelief.

"That's your 'sage advice?" he asked incredulously. "That's crap." Spike laughed.

"Well, maybe if you tell me a little more about this friend, I'd have a better idea of what 'sage advice' I would be appropriate," he said mildly.

Before Dean could answer, he was distracted again by loud laughter at the back of the room. He looked back and saw the drunk girl and semi-drunk idiot guy making their way out the door. Suddenly the guy stumbled and seemed to fall backwards, but the girl quickly grabbed him and held him upright. She offered him a hazy smile and they continued out the door. Dean couldn't quite place it, but something about the interaction had his hunter senses all a-tingle. He absentmindedly grabbed some cash and threw it onto the bar before following them out.

Spike watched him go, confused as to what had elicited his abrupt departure.

Dean emerged in a darkened ally on the side of the restaurant. He looked hugged the shadows and look around, trying to see where the couple had done run off to. He heard a noise from down the street. Dean looked up and saw the couple wrapped around each other, leaning up against the brick wall of an abandoned storefront. From the way they were undulating he figured everything was good and he could go back to the bar and the interesting bartender. Unfortunately for him and his unsatisfied libido, at exactly that moment a bolt of heat lighting lit up the summer sky, revealing the skanky vampiress for what she was.

Dean snapped into hunter mode and slowly pulled the stake out of his back pocket. He stalked towards the couple silently, trying to remember what he had learned about these types of vampires.

When Dean was about two feet away from the couple, the female vampire raised her head suddenly and threw her prey at Dean. He managed to spin away as the guy stumbled into the wall behind him. Unfortunately, Dean was off balance when the vampire chick started coming at him. She was fast and vicious, clawing at him with intentionally sharpened nails. Fortunately, although the vampire had speed on her side, she was still drunk and therefore sloppy. Dean easily fell into the age old pattern of defensive moves; easily swatting away her blows until she foolishly left herself open. Seeing his chance, Dean punched her full in the chest and she fell back against the wall heavily.

Before she had a chance to recover, Dean thrust the stake deep into her chest with a satisfying squelch. She stared at him with shocked yellow eyes, and then rapidly faded away into dust. Dean stumbled as he fell forward into the ash cloud of her remains. He choked on the unpleasant dust, making a mental note to try to avoid the dust spray in the future.

"Wow."

Dean looked up in surprise as he saw that the guy from the bar had followed him out of the bar and was staring at him. At some point during the fight the vampire's victim had scurried off.

As Dean blinked dust out of his eyes, he noticed something interesting.

"Why do you have a stake?" Dean asked, gesturing Spike's hand. Spike looked down at his stake. Then he looked back at Dean.

"You may not realize this, mate, but you're pretty drunk right now. Wasn't sure you could handle a vampire on your own."

Dean blinked.

"I'm not drunk," he muttered. Although, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was realizing that he felt very...lethargic. And the world was a bit fuzzy at the edges. He took a step towards Spike and realized that he was actually not all that steady on his feet. Spike must have noticed it because all of a sudden he was there by Dean's side; an arm under his shoulder propping him up.

"Easy there, big guy," he said soothingly.

"You know about vampires?" Dean asked in confusion. Xander had made it sound like it was an big secret.

"Yeah, they come around here every so often. Some people pretend they're not real but on some level everyone knows," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Dean said stupidly. Suddenly, a fuzzy memory of a photograph from Xander's apartment popped into his head. In a flash of clarity, Dean understood why Xander must come here every night, and why this guy knew about vampires. Dean also understood why this guy was trying to make sure he hadn't been a jerk to Xander. The guys must be friends. Out loud, Dean simply said, "Cool." Spike laughed.

"Yeah, cool. Look, mate, is there someone I can call to come get you?" he asked tiredly. Dean thought of Xander, and nixed that idea. Then he thought of Sam, who would no doubt give him an annoying 'I told you so' and never let him live this night down.

"Nah," Dean said, disentangling himself. "the place I'm staying isn't far form here. I'll walk it."

Spike watched him stumble forward for a few steps before coming to his aid.

"Alright, alright," he said with a long suffering sigh. "Give me a minute to sort out my shift and I'll see you home." Dean snorted, now fully appreciating the effects of his inebriation.

"I can get myself home. I don't need you. Or Sam. Or Xander. Or Cas. Or anyone..." he slurred. Spike patted him patronizingly.

"Sure..." Spike sighed internally. It was going to be a long night.


	22. Chapter 22

Sam's head shot up from the desk where he had fallen asleep. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking around. It looked like Dean was still out. He sighed and stretched, raising his comically long arms above his head. Sam headed towards the door, intending to find something to eat and maybe call Dean.

"Sam?" Dean paused in front of the door. Slowly, he turned around. As he did so, he realized that this wasn't Xander's room. This was his room. At Stanford.

"Sam?!" a soft, scared voice called from above the bed. Sam looked up.

Jessica was there, pinned to the ceiling. She was staring at him with terror in her eyes.

"No!" Sam yelled, fearing what came next.

"He's coming, Sam. Don't give up. You can still-"

The rest of her words were drowned out by the sudden, deafening roar of the fire as it enveloped her. The flames consumed her body almost instantly.

"Noooo!" Sam yelled again, feeling tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes. "Jessica!"

"You couldn't save her, Sam." Sam spun around at the new voice coming from behind him. "You couldn't save me either," Madison said reproachfully. Sam stumbled backwards, away from her. "You can't save anyone..." she accused, the bullet hole still bleeding.

"This isn't real..." Sam whispered, staring at her in horror. Madison tilted her head. Sam got his breathing under control as the realization sunk in. "This is a nightmare," he said more confidently.

"Well," a masculine voice began behind him, "maybe, maybe not." Sam didn't turn around. He had no desire to see the owner of that voice. "Doesn't mean she's wrong." Sam stood stone still as Lucifer's vessel Nicholas slowly circled up from behind. He stood across from Sam, taking Madison's place as she shimmered out of existence. "Hello, Sam."

"This isn't real, you're not here," Sam said gruffly. Lucifer grinned.

"You sure about that?" He drawled.

Sam tamped down viciously on the frisson of fear and uncertainty that rose up. He glared.

"Yes." Lucifer stared at him for another minute before shrugging.

"Alright, so it's a dream. Doesn't make it any less real," he said smiling. Sam frowned.

"What?"

He followed Lucifer with his eyes as he began to pace.

"Go ahead, try to wake up." Sam spared him another glare before closing his eyes. He squinted hard and tried to connect with his physical body enough to wake up. When he opened his eyes again Lucifer was smirking at him, a mixture of amusement and superiority on his smug face.

"See what I mean?"

"What is this? Who are you?" Sam demanded.

"Aw, it hasn't really been that long Sam, has it?" Lucifer spread his arms. "You still remember your old friend the devil, don't you?" he chided. Sam shook his head violently

"No. No, if this isn't just a dream, then you can't be Lucifer. Even if you had managed to get out of the cage, you wouldn't have been able to follow me here."

"Well then who am I, Sam? Who else has a backstage pass to that bundle of hypocrisy and angst you call a brain?"

Sam stared at him for a moment, trying to think. It had to be someone from this world, someone or something with the motivation to want to invade his dreams. Since they had been in this world, he and Dean had encountered only one being that 1.) was hostile, and 2.) they hadn't killed yet.

"Hmm? Time's up, we need an answer contestant," Lucifer taunted.

"You're the shadow creature. The one Dean and I faced." Lucifer slapped his hands together and laughed.

"Aaah, you got me Sammy!" He spun around and whooped before coming back at Sam. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "You're not half as dumb as you look, kiddo."

"Just cut the crap. What do you want?"

"I wanna help you, Sammy."

Sam snorted.

"Sure. That's why you attacked us. And why you appeared in my dream looking like that," he spat resentfully. The shadow creature shrugged apologetically.

"Hey, I needed to talk and my power lies in darkness. It's how I get in," he drawled suggestively. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, opting instead to glare more intensely. "But seriously, Sam," his voice sharpened, "I'm sorry about how I was when you first saw me. You have to understand, I'd just woken up after being asleep for a reeeeeally long time. Let's just say I 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed.'"

"Really?" Sam asked incredulously. "You're telling me that the reason you nearly killed me and my brother is because you woke up cranky?"

The shadow creature cocked his head curiously.

"You care about him. Your brother."

Sam's jaw clenched.

"You don't need to say it, Sam. I've seen your darkest thoughts. He's threaded all through them-a confusing mix of love, guilt, and crippling co-dependence. What you two have is really special," he mocked.

"So you read my mind. So what?" Sam asked tersely.

"So I know why you're here. I know what you want." Suddenly, the shadow creature shifted from Lucifer to Cain. He held up his forearm. "The mark."

Sam schooled his features and tried not to let on how the sight affected him.

"What about it?" he asked coolly.

"I can tell you how to get rid of it."

Sam blinked.

"What...why? Why would you do that?" Sam asked, genuinely befuddled.

"It shouldn't be here, Sam. It doesn't belong in this world. Every second that it stays here the danger surrounding your brother increases." Sam shook his head.

"What danger?"

"That mark was put there by god. It makes him a big, glowy target."

"For creatures like you, you mean?" Sam spat.

"No, dingus. I don't want the power; I don't want it to exist. It's wrong, and I can't go back to sleep until it's gone." Sam paused thinking that over.

"Why should I believe you? I don't even know who or what you are."

"I'm a grumpy old man who just wants to go back to sleep. I also happen to be the guy offering you what you want most; a way to make sure your brother is safe."

"Say, just for argument's sake," Sam started slowly, "that I believed you. How do I get rid of the mark?" The shadow creature smiled.

"The key to your dilemma – you'll get that later – lies with a very special brunette." The figure of Cain morphed into a slight, twenty-something girl with brown hair and big beautiful eyes. "Pretty, isn't she?" the figure of the girl mused, looking down at herself. The shadow creature looked back at Sam.

"Prettier than the package is what lies inside." The shadow creature extended the girl's wrists, bare in a short sleeve top. Slices appeared down her arms and blood began to flow from her wounds. The flow became a waterfall which began filling the room. Sam looked down at his feet in disgust. He looked back up at the shadow creature, who was studying him curiously with eyes far too old for the young face.

"I'm not killing some girl," Sam yelled, trying to ignore the sensation of cool tacky blood seeping into his socks.

The girl grinned, mouth open much too wide.

"Nah, just some blood on the mark will do the trick. You don't have to kill her. Although I suppose you could if that's what you're into." The shadow smiled wider, literally stretching from ear to ear and warping the girls face to something inhuman. The blood was up to Sam's waist now.

"Where do I find her?" he shouted against the sudden roaring sound that was filling the room. He realized belatedly that it must be the sound of her blood rushing out of her veins. His vision disappeared in a haze of metallic red. The last thing Sam heard before reason gave way to panic was the Shadow's raspy, genderless voice murmuring in his ear:

"The whisper streams say you'll see her soon. Just a little blood, and Dean will be safe."


	23. Chapter 23

Xander had come home from the bar and flung himself into the shower where he rinsed off the evidence of his encounter with Dean. Xander felt a mixture of of smugness and apprehension as he watched the water sluice down the drain. Sex and Xander were a combination guaranteed to complicate any situation. And now that Dean had shown an interest in him, there was a fair-to-good chance that the guy was a demon; something Xander would have to investigate at a later date. After showering Xander had thrown himself into bed where he had a series of confusing and erotic dreams, including one where Dean turned into Spike and then made an omelet out of giant praying mantis eggs.

Xander awoke late the next morning to the enticing smell of coffee. Grabbing his phone, Xander walked into the living room, checking over his missed texts from Willow. "I thought I smelled coffee. Is there still coffee?" He asked without looking up.

"Half a pot, mate. Help yourself."

Xander froze, still looking at his phone. His giant freaked out eyes reflected back at him from the shiny surface of his phone. Slowly, barely breathing, he raised his eyes and stared across the kitchen at the stunning creature sipping coffee out of his Disappearing Tardis coffee mug. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as his vision narrowed to mildly amused blue eyes. He opened his mouth and words he couldn't contain tumbled past his lips.

"Kerple."

Spike raised his eyebrow and smirked. Xander felt the familiarity of that smile like a kick in the gut.

"Relax, mate. Not a home intruder. Your boy got a little too drunk last night so I helped him along. Then I just crashed because it was late and I wanted to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. Be out of your hair soon enough."

Xander blinked.

"My boy?" he repeated automatically, not really hearing himself. Spike, busy swallowing another mouthful of coffee, gestured with his had to a point behind Xander. Xander looked back as Dean staggered into the kitchen, drawn as Xander was by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and looked rough after last night's dance with the whiskey devil. He staggered past Xander to the coffee pot, oblivious to the awkward tension.

"Ah." Xander added, staring between the two of them. He looked to the door, then back to Dean, who was now seated at the table drinking his coffee black. "I mean," he continued, feeling the need to fill the silence in a way he hadn't since he was a teenager, "he's not my boy. Not even a boy, really, more of a man. And certainly not _my_ man. Not that I have a man. Or am looking for one." By this point both Dean and Spike were looking at him as though he were nuts.

"Riiiiight then," Spike said slowly, registering how uncomfortable his presence was making Xander. "I suppose I'll just be shoving off then," he said, dumping his empty mug in the sink. Dean looked up.

"Mm. Thanks for helping me out last night. You've got some impressive moves." Xander blinked.

"Moves? There were moves?!" He squeaked. Dean gave him another 'what the hell is wrong with you' look.

"Yeah, we got jumped by some vamps on our way back. Between the two of us it was a cake walk." Xander felt himself beginning to hyperventilate.

"Vamps?" he repeated, then looked to Spike. "Vamps? You can't fight vamps!" he shrieked. Spike stared at him.

"Why the hell not?" he asked, genuine confusion mixing with his surprise at the casual nature with which the two others discussed fighting vampires.

"Because you're not supposed to! You're supposed to..." Xander trailed off, eyes bugging as he realized he may have said too much. Spike tilted his head, scrutinizing Xander for the first time since he had emerged from his bedroom.

"Supposed to what?" he asked quietly, and Xander couldn't help but shiver. He remembered when Spike's voice used to sound like that; usually when he was contemplating pure, beautiful chaos.

Xander's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. He got a random, illogical urge to scream for Buffy to save him.

Spike looked at Xander as though he were prey that Spike wasn't entirely sure how to hunt. Suddenly Spike's eyes lit up suddenly.

"You're always at the bar." His face clouded over. "You spying on me?" Xander clamped his mouth shut, and shook his head sharply, not trusting himself to speak.

Dean glanced between them, beginning to pick up on the awkward vibe. He swallowed his coffee nervously.

"Look, I'm sorry if I crossed a line here. I wouldn't normally invite a random person to your place, but I figured you guys knew each other so it would be cool," he said defensively.

Spike fastened on him with the intensity of a shark scenting blood. "How did you know we knew each other?" he asked carefully. Xander was impressed at the leading way he phrased the question. Dean continued to glance back and forth between them.

"Because of the photo?" he said haltingly. Spike's eyes glittered intently.

"What photo?" he asked quietly.

"Stop..." Xander whispered, feeling as though his control over this conversation was quickly slipping away. Dean either didn't hear him or chose not to understand, because he pointed blandly in the direction of the mantel. Spike strode rapidly towards the area Dean had pointed at. Xander couldn't seem to make himself move to stop him. He couldn't even make himself move when he saw Spike storm towards the fireplace.

He couldn't imagine what Spike would think when he saw the photos on his shelf.

Dean looked at Xander with concern.

"Sorry?" he offered, still incredibly confused. Xander glared at him.

"Can you clear out for a bit? This might get ugly." Dean acquiesced quietly, grabbing a poptart and heading upstairs. Xander steeled himself and entered the living room. Spike was standing in front of the mantel, staring at the photo of him, Xander, and the rest of the Scoobies with a tightly clenched jaw. The photo showed Dawn with her arms flung around Spike's waist. In the photo, he was looking down at her with a mix of awe and affection.

"Did you do this?" he asked, deadly quiet. Xander twitched. He had anticipated Spike's anger but he wasn't entirely prepared for it.

"Do what?" he asked quietly. Spike glared at him over his shoulder.

"Did you fuck with my head?" He turned fully around. "Did you steal my memories?!"

Xander snapped into babble mode.

"What? No! Of course not! I would never do that to you! I just ran into you by accident and when I realized you didn't know who you were I didn't want to ruin what you had going for you."

Spike snorted.

"And just what the fuck did you think I had going for me? No, forget that. Who the fuck do you think you are to make decisions for me?"

Xander shifted awkwardly for a few minutes. He studied his feet silently and tried not to meet Spike's eyes. He had no idea what to say.

"So who am I?" Spike asked quietly. Xander's head shot up. His mouth flapped open for a few minutes, unsure of how to really answer the question. Spike rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't remember anything before I woke up in an alley in LA. You can't possibly know what it's like, to start your life in the middle, and be completely alone the whole time. So at the very least you owe me an explanation."

Xander sighed deeply and collapsed onto the couch.

"You're...complicated." He said at length.

"So start simple," Spike said tersely, plopping down next to him on the other end of the couch. "Start with my name."

"Okay," Xander murmured, running his hands through his hair. "Your name was William Pratt, but you went by Spike."

Spike looked at him for a full minute. Then he burst out laughing. Xander couldn't help but smile as Spike grasped his sides and shook with laughter.

"Mate," he gasped after a few minutes, "I've been wondering what my name was since I woke up. And believe you me, 'Spike' never even crossed my mind," he smiled.

Xander couldn't help but smile back. His heart hurt with how much he had missed that smile.

"Okay, so, Spike. How'd I get that name?" he grinned. Abruptly the smile fell from Xander's face. He wondered suddenly how the hell he was going to make it through this conversation.


	24. Chapter 24

Charlie looked up at the office building and swallowed. Hard.

After she had conned the slayer into telling her where Andrew was being held, she and Cas and the flying monkeys had high-tailed it to LA. Reigna and Simon had accompanied them as far as the nearest gas station, where Simon had flatly refused to go any further. Against Castiel's recommendation, Charlie had used the key on the bathroom door and sent the two back to Oz. Cas and Charlie continued on.

When they were close to LA, they checked into a cheap hotel and planned their next move.

"Alright, so, apparently that slayer - whose name I never got, by the way - thought I was another slayer that she knew. I'm guessing that's my double in this world," Charlie had rambled as she paced around the room. "So it's likely that everyone in her camp will think that I'm her, which means I should be able to bluff my way into getting to see Andrew."

"You have to be careful, Charlie," Cas had warned. "Your double must be running around somewhere. If your identity is discovered-" the rest of Castiel's warning was lost to a violent coughing fit. Charlie had helped him to sit on the bed.

"Cas, bud, you're not looking too good," Charlie had said nervously. Castiel sighed.

"I fear I'm near the end of my time," he rasped. "I doubt I'll be much good to you." Charlie had frowned anxiously.

"Tell you what, Cas. You rest up here, and after I get the info I need, we'll see if there's any magic in this world that can help you out with your whole...dying, problem," she said awkwardly. Castiel had glared at her reproachfully.

"Don't get your hopes up," he had whispered. Castiel had turned over on the moth-eaten bed and passed out after that, succumbing to his exhaustion. Charlie had watched him sleep for a moment before heading out on her mission.

She now stood in front of the office building, staring upwards at the shining facade. She squared her shoulders and tried to think 'slayer' as she approached the door. A scifi looking scanner popped out of a hidden compartment and scanned her biometrics. Then the door snapped open revealing an ordinary looking lobby. She walked in confidently, trying to pretend like she belonged there. Absolutely no one, none of the casual-to-business attired individuals running around the ornate lobby, gave her a second glance. Charlie was heartened by this and strolled up to the receptionist desk.

"Hello," Charlie said brightly to the bespectacled man sitting behind the large desk. The man looked up at her blandly. "Can you tell me where I can find Andrew Wells?" she asked politely. He rolled his eyes.

"Hang on," he said, beginning to type furiously on his computer. Charlie watched him for a moment, anxiously chewing on her lip. Suddenly she felt an iron grip on her shoulder spinning her around.

"Vi!" the woman holding her yelled. Charlie blinked at the young Asian woman. Charlie blinked.

"Yes! Hello?" she greeted, trying not to let her uncertainty show. The girl grinned at her.

"Here to see Andrew? Me too!" she said without waiting for an answer. "I was with him earlier I can show you the way. Come on!" The girl pulled her towards a bank of elevators. Charlie resisted instinctively for a moment and then decided to go with the flow. She'd worry about getting Andrew alone after she found out where he was.

The girl chattered at her on the elevator ride up and through the hallways. Charlie tried her best to deflect any questions. The floor that they had stopped on had distinctly more security than the rest of the building. Charlie followed the other woman past several security scanners (both magical and mechanical), past locked doors, and past armed guards, to a room at the end of a hallway.

When they entered the room it looked less like a hospital and more like a hotel bedroom. There was the obligatory heart monitor and IV stand by the bed but the rest of the room was very comfortable and homey-looking. A nurse stood by the bed, taking readings and jotting things on a chart. Charlie looked at the boy in the bed, trying not to let her feelings show.

He was asleep. Charlie was struck by how very very young he looked. And how very very gay. He was definitely not what she had pictured when she imagined someone enslaving her monkey friends. The nurse looked up. She shook her head.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I just put him under a healing sleep. It'll allow him to regain his mystic energy much more quickly."

Charlie groaned inwardly.

"Aw, that's tough luck. Sorry, Vi," the girl next to her said regretfully.

"How long until he's awake?" Charlie asked. The nurse shrugged.

"I'm going to wake him up in about an hour. It's dangerous to leave him in this state for too long, not sure how far he'll sink down. Don't want a sleeping beauty situation on our hands."

"Come on, Vi. We can wait it out," the girl next to her said, steering her out of the room. They walked back past the measures of security but when they got to the elevators the girl kept walking in the other direction.

"I hope you don't mind, Vi, but one of my friends is in the ward with all the psychics. I wanna check on him."

"Psychics?" Charlie asked distractedly. Her mind was still focused on puzzling out how to get to Andrew alone. The girl gave her a strange, calculating look which Charlie missed.

"Yeah, you hadn't heard? All the psychics in the world and basically anyone tuned into the powers-that-be started going all crazy pants a few days ago?"

Charlie nodded, trying to look like this wasn't disturbing information. Privately, she wondered if this had anything to do with her arrival in the world. The other girl shrugged and pushed open a set of swinging doors. They walked into a long ward with multiple beds along the wall. Charlie snapped back to the present as she realized what she was seeing. All of the individuals, most of whom were human, were strapped down in various stages of consciousness. Some were gagged. All of them appeared to be out of their minds.

The other girl watched her take this in.

"Yeah, it's pretty disturbing," she murmured. Charlie stepped forwards, looking at a brunette girl to her left. Charlie suddenly felt something sharp poking into her back.

"It was disturbing the first time you saw it too."

Charlie inhaled shallowly. She held her arms up placatingly.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly. "We're friends."

"Oh yeah? Then what's my name?" the woman asked. Charlie scrunched up her face.

"Susan?" she guessed. The woman behind her snorted.

"Nice try. Turn around! Slowly," she ordered. Charlie did as she asked and turned around to face the business end of a sword.

"It's Satsu, by the way," she added venomously.

"Satsu. Nice to meet you," Charlie said with a nervous chuckle. Satsu was unimpressed.

"My name's Charlie, and I realize that it's suspicious that I look like your friend, but I promise I have a good reason." Satsu sneered.

"Yeah? You wanna finish what that shadow creature started?" she asked with deadly conviction. Before Charlie could even utter a denial, they were interrupted but a sudden, simultaneous gasp from the psychics surrounding them.

Disturbed, they looked around at the invalids whose faces were now pointed towards them. In one voice, they intoned:

"TRESSPASSER! DEFILER! BRINGER OF DARKNESS! YOU ARE DESTRUCTION!"

The voices then lapsed into nonsensical shrieks and groans, mumbling similar condemnations. Charlie was the first to recover from the sudden interruption. She shoved Satsu, hard, and ran past her towards the exit. She was halfway down the hall when she felt something grab her foot. She narrowly avoided face planting by rolling onto her side and flinging out her arms. Once she was on the carpet, she tried to get away from whatever had her leg but suddenly she felt pain shooting all throughout her body from the point of contact in her ankle. She faded into darkness as the sound of running boots closed in on her.


	25. Chapter 25

As Castiel gazed balefully up at the stained tile of the motel ceiling, he couldn't help but think that he'd be much more comfortable in Dean's bed, surrounded by the scent of him. That was how he had planned to die; not like this. Not alone on a filthy duvet in a flea bag hotel in an alien world with only the muffled sound of adultery coming from the surrounding room to see him off. He was pulled from his melancholy musings by a soft thump from outside of his room. He glanced towards door. The handle rattled for a moment. Then the lock clicked and the door swung inward, revealing the form of a man silhouetted against the blazing sunset outside. Castiel watched with a mounting sense of dread as the silhouette stepped into the room. Cas tried unsuccessfully to make his limbs respond, but he was too weak.

The voice in his head pointed out that it was senseless for one who was waiting to die to panic at the prospect of death. That didn't stop him from straining to raise his body to a sitting position.

He looked back up as the door swung shut behing the man. Cas blinked, unable to make out any distinct features in the dim lighting.

"Well. Don't you look like something the cat dragged in and then regurgitated."

Cas squinched up his face in confusion.

"Gabriel?"

Gabriel flipped on the buzzing lights as he waltzed further into the room. He smiled broadly.

"In the flesh! Which was no small feat, let me tell you." He sashayed around Cas's bed and leaned on the headboard, laughing at him.

"Why are you here? " Cas demanded, trying to sound intimidating. He suspected that the trembling and sweating somewhat detracted from his menace.

"Ah, that is quite a tale. An epic story full of twists and turns and long, character-building challenges. But, I've got places to go and people to see, so I'll try and give you the bullet points version."

He pulled up a tattered armchair and put his feet up on Castiel's bed.

"It all started eons ago when I realized I had had enough of Dad, and our family, and their bull. So I ran."

"You became Loki," Castiel supplied, still subtly trying to regain his mobility.

"Not at first! No, first, I tried to leave the whole mess. The whole universe, even. The plan was to run as far as I possibly could, where no one who's even heard of our dimension could ever find me. But the thing is, in every universe I ran to, I could see Dad's handiwork, and I knew I wasn't really safe. Until," he paused and leaned forward for dramatic effect, "I discovered this place."

Castiel blinked, confused, as it seemed Gabriel wouldn't continue without prompting.

"What's so special about this place?" he asked, curious despite himself.

"Glad you asked! You see, the thing about this place? Dad can't enter. Apparently, nothing infused with his divine spark may enter this dimension. And I thought, 'hey, that's the perfect place to hide out!' Unfortunately, the very thing that made it perfect also made it impossible for me to get in. This universe sensed my grace and refused to let me enter. Ever since then, it's been my little obsession to break into this dimension."

Castiel took a moment to digest this.

"I don't understand. How can Our Father be exiled from anything? His presence suffuses all things. His power and might are as limitless as his mercy and wisdom," Castiel recited as though by rote.

"Or so he would have you believe. But apparently, in this dimension there arose a new, powerful Divine Force that kicked Dad's butt the hell out. Not only that, this thing made it so he and his could never enter this dimension again. Which, unfortunately, meant that no creature imbued with His grace could enter this world."

A light bulb went on in Castiel's head.

"Until me."

Gabriel smiled indulgently.

"Until you. Even without your grace, you're still an angel. You beat the system and in doing so, destroyed the barrier protecting this place. You created the loophole, bro. I just followed you in." Silence momentarily followed this declaration, so thick you could hear a pin drop. Eventually Gabriel broke the tension, unable to go without the sound of his own voice.

"Oh, don't be like that! I don't have any nefarious plan, I just wanted to get away from our father and our crazy family."

"How could you possibly know that Charlie would ask me to come to this world?" Cas asked, looking (and feeling) perplexed.

"Well, this is actually sort of complicated, but, I didn't. See," he said, beginning to pace, "I could never get into this universe. So throughout the centuries I've been putting schemes into place which, in time, were likely to open a gateway between our world and this one. Throwing a magical-winged-monkey-summoning-hat into this dimension, for instance. I figured, eventually, the monkeys would find their way home, and I could find a way to exploit any opening they made. It was kind of a goof, not the plan I thought would actually pay off. But then, imagine my surprise when little Charlie Bradbury takes up the quest. When a genius like her sets her mind to something, you can be darn sure that she's gonna accomplish it. I was monitoring the situation in Oz. I just manipulated you a little bit to help her out. Which, may or may not have required altering the passage of time in Oz."

"Why?"

"Why what? There's a lot of moving pieces here, you gotta be more specific."

"Why are you telling me this? You got what you wanted. You're in this dimension, although I fail to see how its safe now that the dimensional barrier is destroyed. What more do you want from me?" Castiel glared at him from his bed, angry at once again being manipulated.

"See, I thought you might feel that way. But the thing is..." Gabriel hesitated, "I like you, Cas. You don't got a lot of brains or common sense, but you've got heart. And even when you're fucking up spectacularly, you always try to do what's right, not what other people say is right."

"Gabriel..." Cas said warningly, forgetting for the moment that he was effectively helpless.

"And because you're my favorite little brother, I have a gift for you." Gabriel reached inside his jacket. When he pulled his hand out, there was something beautiful and white glowing within his closed fist. Cas's eyes widened, not quite believing what he was seeing. His gaze darted from the closed fist to Gabriel.

"Is that-"

"One of the side effects of dimensional magic? It leaves unexpected ripples in space AND in time. So if, say, someone were to open a portal to another world in the same spot where you did, even if it was opened BEFORE you opened your portal, it might lead to the same place. Enjoy your reward." Without further ado or any warning at all, he slammed his hand against Castiel's mouth. Castiel felt his consciousness greying out at the edges as everything that he was flooded his being in one giant, crashing wave. When the pain became too great he lost consciousness; so he didn't see the expression on Gabriel's face as he made his quiet retreat.


	26. Chapter 26

Spike stared back at the sexy brunette sitting across from him.

"So..." he started, taking a sip from the beer that Xander had thoughtfully gotten for them both. It may have been before noon but Miss Manners requires that life altering secrets be accompanied by the comforting anesthetic of alcohol. "I was a mass murdering vampire, got injured, was forced to work for the good guys, turned good, and then died. Is that roughly what you're saying?" he asked, a little incredulously.

"Minus a prophesy or two. Also I edited around some plot points that when spoken aloud just sound silly and distract from your overall story arc," Xander said thoughtfully. As he had been telling the incredibly watered down "Story of Spike" Xander had found himself relaxing. Sitting there, going over their old adventures and sharing a beer with Spike was the closest to content that he had felt in a long time.

"Right..." Spike said slowly. He put the beer down, folded his hands and stared at Xander very intensely.

"Listen, mate-"

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Xander asked, grinning. It honestly didn't matter to him whether Spike believed him or not. As long as he didn't start outright avoiding him, Xander would be happy.

"Well yeah. You're a few crayons short of a box, mate. But I mean, I've seen some shit since I came out of the hospital. Hell, I've seen some shit while I was _in_ the hospital. So monsters and demons? Yeah alright. Magic? Don't know if I believe in that. And this whole story you've handed me...its a bit incredible."

"Yeah, it is," Xander agreed easily.

"If I had to guess about what's actually going on here," Spike said slowly, "I'd say that you've experienced a lot of trauma in your life, and that some of this trauma was likely do to the supernatural underworld. And to deal with it, you've concocted this fantasy world of slayers and witches that fight the bad guys, and you fight along with them. It's a fantasy that lets you feel more in control. And at some point, I'm guessing you lost someone who looked something like me, and when you saw me at the bar you started to fit me into your delusions as your long lost friend who also fought evil, died and came back. You've been fixating on me this whole time, but now your friend brings me into your home and you're left to try to convince me or give up your coping mechanism. You get me?"

Xander blinked, surprised by how plausible Spike's argument seemed. He had a brief moment of sympathy for Buffy's brush with delusion. It occurred to him that if he didn't fight it, Spike would go back to the bar, assuming that Xander was a crazy person who hadn't known him after all. He could continue to live on in ignorance of the truth, and enjoy his reward without his past coming back to bite him in the ass. With this in mind, Xander let out a deep, theatrical sigh.

"You know, I hate to admit it, but I think you're probably right. I shouldn't have gone off my meds this month."

Spike gave him a strange look, as though he had expected Xander to fight harder to prove the truth of his fantasy world.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time-John, was it?" Xander said, getting up and preparing to show Spike to the door. "I promise not to bother you in the future."

Spike was just kind of staring at him, gob smacked. Clearly not taking the hint to leave. Xander was going to start more active hinting when he felt his pocket begin to buzz. He took out his phone and saw an urgent text message from Willow:

"Xan, prepare for emergency transportation. If possible, bring our guests."

Xander frowned at his phone, wondering what could have gone down that would require he come immediately AND bring the newcomers.

"Something wrong mate?" Spike asked curiously. Xan seemed to recover himself somewhat.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I just have to go. Now. So..." he said slowly, gesturing at the door. Spike looked down at himself and shrugged.

"Yeah, I get it. Would you mind if I stuck around and had a shower? I'm feeling grimy after last night."

Xander inwardly groaned. He didn't particularly want to leave amnesiac!spike alone in his apartment, but when Willow initiated emergency transportation, he generally didn't have too long to prepare himself.

"I...sure. Just don't rob us and lock up when you leave," he said quickly, sprinting upstairs.

Sam looked up as Dean entered the room. He was munching on a poptart, spewing crumbs as he walked. He smiled at Sam.

"Hey Sam. You look like crap."

Sam flashed him sour-bitch face.

"Trouble sleeping," he said irritably. "I fell asleep at the computer." Dean flopped on the bed across the room from where Sam was seated.

"I know. I saw you when I came in," he said, happily. Sam glared at him.

"Thanks for waking me up, man," he said sarcastically. Dean just grinned wider. "Why are you in such a cheerful mood?"

Dean smiled for a minute, wondering how best to answer. Eventually he just shrugged.

"Was a good night, is all. Found some strange at the bar and then killed a vampire. Good times were had by all. Except the vampire, I guess," he added thoughtfully. Sam stared at him wide-eyed.

"You got attacked last night? Dude, why didn't you call me?" he demanded. Dean waved him off.

"It wasn't a big deal, man. It was over in two minutes, barely a scuffle. Bar tender helped me out."

"The bar tender?"

"Yeah. Apparently, the supernatural is about as secret here as it is where we're from. It's not that hard to find people in the know."

Sam considered this. As he did Dean watched him closely. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual.

"Seriously dude, you okay? You don't look great."

Sam hesitated a minute before crossing the room and sitting next to Dean.

"I had a dream," he said quietly. Dean frowned.

"What kind of dream?"

"That shadow creature we faced? I think he came to me in my dream." Dean sat up, body snapping to attention.

"What? Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, eyes darting over Sam's form as though checking for injuries.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He wasn't trying to hurt me." Dean did a double take.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, dude. What did he want?"

Sam stared at him for a minute. On the one hand, he knew that keeping important information to himself pretty much always came back to bite him in the ass, and Dean usually found out anyway. On the other hand, if Dean knew that this creature was offering him a way to remove the mark-even though it sounded like a pretty harmless solution- Dean would be dead set against it and refuse to listen to reason.

"He uh...he told me that he wasn't trying to kill us, but it was our arrival in this world that woke him up. That's why he attacked us. He said he was grumpy and he just wants to go back to sleep."

Dean gave him a incredulous look.

"Really? An all-powerful being invaded your noggin just to tell you why he's here? What, he didn't threaten you, try to make a deal?" he demanded. Sam shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, well what else did he tell you? Did you learn anything useful as far as how to stop him?" Sam shrugged again.

"To be honest, it's all kind of a blur, you know? Not super clear. But I'll keep thinking on it. If I think of anything I'll let you know." Dean gave him a very intense stare, and Sam tried to look as innocent and dopey as possible while Dean assessed him. Luckily for Sam, Dean was always eager to look at Sam and see his goofy younger brother instead of the cunning hunter he had become. Eventually Dean just sort of nodded and brushed the crumbs off his shirt.

"Alright. Well, keep me posted."

Dean started to get up when the door burst inward. Xander was on the other side wrestling to get his coat on.

"What?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

"Emergency teleportation to Watcher HQ. Something big is going down, apparently to do with you guys. You ready?"

Dean was pulling on a shirt as Xander was talking.

"Most definitely. Where we headed?" he asked as he and Sam followed Xander out the door.

"LA."


End file.
